metamorphose you."

"Oh, I wish you would!" sighed Phebe, clasping her hands and speaking so
earnestly that he looked at her in surprise. "I am so sick of myself. I
do want to be something better than I am. I am so dreadfully
common-place. I amount to so little. I know so little. I can do so
little. And there is no one here who cares to help me to any thing
better. I don't know enough even to know how to improve myself. But I do
want to. Will you help me, Mr. Halloway? Will you really help me?" She
positively had tears shining in her eyes.

Mr. Halloway leaned forward and gently took her hand. "Am I not here for
that?" he asked. "Here purposely to help you and all who need me in any
way? Will it not be my greatest pleasure to do so, as well as my best and
truest work? You may be sure, Miss Phebe, I will do all I can for you,
with God's help."

"Rather damp for you to be sitting there without a shawl, isn't it,
my child?"

It was only Mrs. Anthony's friendly voice, as that lady passed
hurriedly by, intent on hospitable duties, but Phebe started guiltily.
What right had she to be out here with Mr. Halloway, keeping him from
the other girls, when she ought, of course, to be in the parlors seeing
that the old ladies got their ice-cream safely? "I'll go right in," she
said, rising hastily; but Mr. Halloway drew her hand through his arm to
detain her.

"Why? Because it is damp?"