It was not a pretty house either where she lived.

It was square and clumsy and without any originality, and, moreover, faced plump on the street, so that one could look right into its parlor and sitting-room windows as one strolled along the wooden sidewalks.

And people were in the habit of looking in that way a good deal.

Nothing was ever going on in there that could not bear this sudden outside inspection, and it was the shortest way to call Phebe when she was wanted for any thing of a sudden,--to bear a fourth hand at whist, or to stone raisins for Mrs.Adams the day before her luncheon, or to run on an errand down town for some lazy body who preferred other people's legs to her own for locomotion, or to relieve some wearied host in the entertainment of his dull guest, or to help in some way or other, here, there, and yonder.

She was just the one to be called upon, of course, for she was just the one who was always on hand, and always ready to go.