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diff --git a/22827.txt b/22827.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4c7e48b --- /dev/null +++ b/22827.txt @@ -0,0 +1,10309 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Patchwork, by Anna Balmer Myers + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Patchwork + A Story of 'The Plain People' + +Author: Anna Balmer Myers + +Illustrator: Helen Mason Groce + +Release Date: October 2, 2007 [EBook #22827] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PATCHWORK *** + + + + +Produced by Suzanne Lybarger, Emille and the Booksmiths +at http://www.eBookForge.net + + + + + + + + +[Illustration: "OH, LOOK AT THIS--AND THIS!"] + + + + +PATCHWORK + +A STORY OF + +"THE PLAIN PEOPLE" + +By ANNA BALMER MYERS + +[Illustration] + + WITH FRONTISPIECE IN COLOR BY + HELEN MASON GROSE + + A. L. BURT COMPANY + Publishers New York + + Published by arrangement with George W. Jacobs & Company + + Copyright, 1920, by + GEORGE W. JACOBS & COMPANY + + + + + All rights reserved + _Printed in U.S.A._ + + _To my Mother and Father + this book is lovingly inscribed_ + + + + +Contents + + + CHAPTER PAGE + + I. CALICO PATCHWORK 13 + + II. OLD AARON'S FLAG 29 + + III. LITTLE DUTCHIE 40 + + IV. THE NEW TEACHER 52 + + V. THE HEART OF A CHILD 70 + + VI. THE PRIMA DONNA OF THE ATTIC 92 + + VII. "WHERE THE BROOK AND RIVER MEET" 110 + + VIII. BEYOND THE ALPS LIES ITALY 119 + + IX. A VISIT TO MOTHER BAB 129 + + X. AN OLD-FASHIONED COUNTRY SALE 146 + + XI. "THE BRIGHT LEXICON OF YOUTH" 166 + + XII. THE PREACHER'S WOOING 176 + + XIII. THE SCARLET TANAGER 189 + + XIV. ALADDIN'S LAMP 203 + + XV. THE FLEDGLING'S FLIGHT 207 + + XVI. PHOEBE'S DIARY 212 + + XVII. DIARY--THE NEW HOME 221 + + XVIII. DIARY--THE MUSIC MASTER 226 + + XIX. DIARY--THE FIRST LESSON 229 + + XX. DIARY--SEEING THE CITY 235 + + XXI. DIARY--CHRYSALIS 240 + + XXII. DIARY--TRANSFORMATION 245 + + XXIII. DIARY--PLAIN FOR A NIGHT 251 + + XXIV. DIARY--DECLARATIONS 256 + + XXV. DIARY--"THE LINK MUST BREAK AND THE LAMP MUST DIE" 261 + + XXVI. "HAME'S BEST" 268 + + XXVII. TRAILING ARBUTUS 271 + + XXVIII. MOTHER BAB AND HER SON 284 + + XXIX. PREPARATIONS 291 + + XXX. THE FEAST OF ROSES 295 + + XXXI. BLINDNESS 303 + + XXXII. OFF TO THE NAVY 310 + + XXXIII. THE ONE CHANCE 315 + + XXXIV. BUSY DAYS 319 + + XXXV. DAVID'S SHARE 327 + + XXXVI. DAVID'S RETURN 331 + + XXXVII. "A LOVE THAT LIFE COULD NEVER TIRE" 335 + + + + +Patchwork + + + + +CHAPTER I + +CALICO PATCHWORK + + +THE gorgeous sunshine of a perfect June morning invited to the great +outdoors. Exquisite perfume from myriad blossoms tempted lovers of +nature to get away from cramped, man-made buildings, out under the blue +roof of heaven, and revel in the lavish splendor of the day. + +This call of the Junetide came loudly and insistently to a little girl +as she sat in the sitting-room of a prosperous farmhouse in Lancaster +County, Pennsylvania, and sewed gaily-colored pieces of red and green +calico into patchwork. + +"Ach, my!" she sighed, with all the dreariness which a ten-year-old is +capable of feeling, "why must I patch when it's so nice out? I just +ain't goin' to sew no more to-day!" + +She rose, folded her work and laid it in her plaited rush sewing-basket. +Then she stood for a moment, irresolute, and listened to the sounds +issuing from the next room. She could hear her Aunt Maria bustle about +the big kitchen. + +"Ach, I ain't afraid!" + +The child opened the door and entered the kitchen, where the odor of +boiling strawberry preserves proclaimed the cause of the aunt's +activity. + +Maria Metz was, at fifty, robust and comely, with black hair very +slightly streaked with gray, cheeks that retained traces of the rosy +coloring of her girlhood, and flashing black eyes meeting squarely the +looks of all with whom she came in contact. She was a member of the +Church of the Brethren and wore the quaint garb adopted by the women of +that sect. Her dress of black calico was perfectly plain. The tight +waist was half concealed by a long, pointed cape which fell over her +shoulders and touched the waistline back and front, where a full apron +of blue and white checked gingham was tied securely. Her dark hair was +parted and smoothly drawn under a cap of white lawn. She was a +picturesque figure but totally unconscious of it, for the section of +Pennsylvania in which she lived has been for generations the home of a +multitude of women similarly garbed--members of the plain sects, as the +Mennonites, Amish, Brethren in Christ, and Church of the Brethren, are +commonly called in the communities in which they flourish. + +As the child appeared in the doorway her aunt turned. + +"So," the woman said pleasantly, "you worked vonderful quick to-day +once, Phoebe. Why, you got your patches done soon--did you make little +stitches like I told you?" + +"I ain't got 'em done!" The child stood erect, a defiant little figure, +her blue eyes grown dark with the moment's tenseness. "I ain't goin' to +sew no more when it's so nice out! I want to be out in the yard, that's +what I want. I just hate this here patchin' to-day, that's what I do!" + +Maria Metz carefully wiped the strawberry juice from her fingers, then +she stood before the little girl like a veritable tower of amazement and +strength. + +"Phoebe," she said after a moment's struggle to control her wrath, "you +ain't big enough nor old enough yet to tell me what you ain't goin' to +do! How many patches did you make?" + +"Three." + +"And you know I said you shall make four every day still so you get the +quilt done this summer yet and ready to quilt. You go and finish them." + +"I don't want to." Phoebe shook her head stubbornly. "I want to play out +in the yard." + +"When you're done with the patches, not before! You know you must learn +to sew. Why, Phoebe," the woman changed her tactics, "you used to like +to sew still. When you was just five years old you cried for goods and +needle and I pinned the patches on the little sewing-bird that belonged +to Granny Metz still and screwed the bird on the table and you sewed +that nice! And now you don't want to do no more patches--how will you +ever get your big chest full of nice quilts if you don't patch?" + +But the child was too thoroughly possessed with the desire to be +outdoors to be won by any pleading or praise. She pulled savagely at +the two long braids which hung over her shoulders and cried, "I don't +want no quilts! I don't want no chests! I don't like red and green +quilts, anyhow--never, never! I wish my pop would come in; he wouldn't +make me sew patches, he"--she began to sob--"I wish, I just wish I had a +mom! She wouldn't make me sew calico when--when I want to play." + +Something in the utter unhappiness of the little girl, together with the +words of yearning for the dead mother, filled the woman with a strange +tenderness. Though she never allowed sentiment to sway her from doing +what she considered her duty she did yield to its influence and spoke +gently to the agitated child. + +"I wish, too, your mom was here yet, Phoebe. But I guess if she was +she'd want you to learn to sew. Ach, it's just that you like to be out, +out all the time that makes you so contrary, I guess. You're like your +pop, if you can just be out! Mebbe when you're old as I once and had +your back near broke often as I had with hoein' and weedin' and plantin' +in the garden you'll be glad when you can set in the house and sew. Ach, +now, stop your cryin' and go finish your patchin' and when you're done +I'll leave you go in to Greenwald for me to the store and to Granny +Hogendobler." + +"Oh"--the child lifted her tear-stained face--"and dare I really go to +Greenwald when I'm done?" + +"Yes. I need some sugar yet and you dare order it. And you can get me +some thread and then stop at Granny Hogendobler's and ask her to come +out to-morrow and help with the strawberry jelly. I got so much to make +and it comes good to Granny if she gets away for a little change." + +"Then I'll patch quick!" Phoebe said. The world was a good place again +for the child as she went back to the sitting-room and resumed her +sewing. + +She was so eager to finish the unpleasant task that she forgot one of +Aunt Maria's rules, as inexorable as the law of the Medes and +Persians--the door between the kitchen and the sitting-room _must_ be +closed. + +"Here, Phoebe," the woman called sharply, "make that door shut! Abody'd +think you was born in a sawmill! The strawberry smell gets all over the +house." + +Phoebe turned alertly and closed the door. Then she soliloquized, "I +don't see why there has to be doors on the inside of houses. I like to +smell the good things all over the house, but then it's Aunt Maria's +boss, not me." + +Maria Metz shook her head as she returned to her berries. "If it don't +beat all and if I won't have my hands full yet with that girl 'fore +she's growed up! That stubborn she is, like her pop--ach, like all of us +Metz's, I guess. Anyhow, it ain't easy raising somebody else's child. If +only her mom would have lived, and so young she was to die, too." + +Her thoughts went back to the time when her brother Jacob brought to the +old Metz farmhouse his gentle, sweet-faced bride. Then the joint +persuasions of Jacob and his wife induced Maria Metz to continue her +residence in the old homestead. She relieved the bride of all the brunt +of manual labor of the farm and in her capable way proved a worthy +sister to the new mistress of the old Metz place. When, several years +later, the gentle wife died and left Jacob the legacy of a helpless +babe, it was Maria Metz who took up the task of mothering the motherless +child. If she bungled at times in the performance of the mother's +unfinished task it was not from lack of love, for she loved the fair +little Phoebe with a passion that was almost abnormal, a passion which +burned the more fiercely because there was seldom any outlet in +demonstrative affection. + +As soon as the child was old enough Aunt Maria began to teach her the +doctrines of the plain church and to warn her against the evils of +vanity, frivolity and all forms of worldliness. + +Maria Metz was richly endowed with that admirable love of industry which +is characteristic of the Pennsylvania Dutch. In accordance with her +acceptance of the command, "Six days shalt thou labor," she swept, +scrubbed, and toiled from early morning to evening with Herculean +persistence. The farmhouse was spotless from cellar to attic, the wooden +walks and porches scrubbed clean and smooth. Flower beds, vegetable +gardens and lawns were kept neat and without weeds. Aunt Maria was, as +she expressed it, "not afraid of work." Naturally she considered it her +duty to teach little Phoebe to be industrious, to sew neatly, to help +with light tasks about the house and gardens. + +Like many other good foster-mothers Maria Metz tried conscientiously to +care for the child's spiritual and physical well-being, but in spite of +her best endeavors there were times when she despaired of the +tremendous task she had undertaken. Phoebe's spirit tingled with the +divine, poetic appreciation of all things beautiful. A vivid imagination +carried the child into realms where the stolid aunt could not follow, +realms of whose existence the older woman never dreamed. + +But what troubled Maria Metz most was the child's frank avowal of +vanity. Every new dress was a source of intense joy to Phoebe. Every new +ribbon for her hair, no matter how narrow and dull of color, sent her +face smiling. The golden hair, which sprang into long curls as Aunt +Maria combed it, was invariably braided into two thick, tight braids, +but there were always little wisps that curled about the ears and +forehead. These wisps were at once the woman's despair and the child's +freely expressed delight. However, through all the rigid discipline the +little girl retained her natural buoyancy of childhood, the spontaneous +interestedness, the cheerfulness and animation, which were a part of her +goodly heritage. + +That June morning the world was changed suddenly from a dismal vale of +patchwork to a glorious garden of delight. She was still a child and the +promised walk to Greenwald changed the entire world for her. + +She paused once in her sewing to look about the sitting-room. "Ach, I +vonder now why this room is so ugly to me to-day. I guess it's because +it's so pretty out. Why, mostly always I think this is a vonderful nice +room." + +The sitting-room of the Metz farm was attractive in its old-fashioned +furnishing. It was large and well lighted. The gray rag carpet--woven +from rags sewed by Aunt Maria and Phoebe--was decorated with wide +stripes of green. Upon the carpet were spread numerous rugs, some made +of braided rags coiled into large circles, others were hooked rugs gaily +ornamented with birds and flowers and graceful scroll designs. The +low-backed chairs were painted dull green and each bore upon the four +inch panel of its back a hand-painted floral design. On the haircloth +sofa were several crazy-work cushions. Two deep rocking-chairs matched +the antique low-backed chairs. A spindle-legged cherry table bore an old +vase filled with pink and red straw flowers. The large square table, +covered with a red and green cloth, held a glass lamp, the old Metz +Bible, several hymn-books and the papers read in that home,--a weekly +religious paper, the weekly town paper, and a well-known farm journal. A +low walnut organ which Phoebe's mother brought to the farm and a tall +walnut grandfather clock, the most cherished heirloom of the Metz +family, occupied places of honor in the room. Not a single article of +modern design could be found in the entire room, yet it was an +interesting and habitable place. Most of the Metz furniture had stood in +the old homestead for several generations and so long as any piece +served its purpose and continued to look respectable Aunt Maria would +have considered it gross extravagance, even a sacrilege, to discard it +for one of newer design. She was satisfied with her house, her brother +Jacob was well pleased with the way she kept it--it never occurred to +her that Phoebe might ever desire new things, and least of all did she +dream that the girl sometimes spent an interesting hour refurnishing, in +imagination, the same old sitting-room. + +"Yes," Phoebe was saying to herself, "sometimes this room is vonderful +to me. Only I wished the organ was a piano, like the one Mary Warner got +to play on. But, ach, I must hurry once and make this patch done. Funny +thing patchin' is, cuttin' up big pieces of good calico in little ones +and then sewin' them up in big ones again! I don't like it"--she spoke +very softly for she knew her aunt disapproved of the habit of talking to +one's self--"I don't like patchin' and I for certain don't like red and +green quilts! I got one on my bed now and it hurts my eyes still in the +morning when I get awake. I'd like a pretty blue and white one for my +bed. Mebbe Aunt Maria will leave me make one when I get this one sewed. +But now my patch is done and I dare to go to Greenwald. That's a +vonderful nice walk." + +A moment later she stood again in the big kitchen. + +"See," she said, "now I got them all done. And little stitches, too, so +nobody won't catch their toes in 'em when they sleep, like you used to +tell me still when I first begun to sew." + +The woman smiled. "Now you're a good girl, Phoebe. Put your patches away +nice and you dare go to Greenwald." + +"Where all shall I go?" + +"Go first to Granny Hogendobler; that's right on the way to the store. +You ask her to come out to-morrow morning early if she wants to help +with the berries." + +"Dare I stay a little?" + +"If you want. But don't you go bringin' any more slips of flowers to +plant or any seeds. The flower beds are that full now abody can hardly +get in to weed 'em still." + +"All right, I won't. But I think it's nice to have lots and lots of +flowers. When I have a garden once I'll have it full----" + +"Talk of that some other day," said her aunt. "Get ready now for town +once. You go to the store and ask 'em to send out twenty pounds of +granulated sugar. Jonas, one of the clerks, comes out this way still +when he goes home and he can just as good fetch it along on his home +road. Your pop is too busy to hitch up and go in for it and I have no +time neither to-day and I want it early in the morning, and what I have +is almost all. And then you can buy three spools of white thread number +fifty. And when you're done you dare look around a little in the store +if you don't touch nothing. On the home road you better stop in the +post-office and ask if there's anything. Nobody was in yesterday." + +"All right--and--Aunt Maria, dare I wear my hat?" + +"Ach, no. Abody don't wear Sunday clothes on a Wednesday just to go to +Greenwald to the store. Only when you go to Lancaster and on a Sunday +you wear your hat. You're dressed good enough; just get your sunbonnet, +for it's sunny on the road." + +Phoebe took a small ruffled sunbonnet of blue checked gingham from a +hook behind the kitchen door and pressed it lightly on her head. + +"Ach, bonnets are vonderful hot things!" she exclaimed. "A nice parasol +like Mary Warner's got would be lots nicer. Where's the money?" she +asked as she saw a shadow of displeasure on her aunt's face. + +"Here it is, enough for the sugar and the thread. Don't lose the +pocketbook, and be sure to count the change so they don't make no +mistake." + +"Yes." + +"And don't touch things in the store." + +"No." The child walked to the door, impatient to be off. + +"And be careful crossin' over the streets. If a horse comes, or a +bicycle, wait till it's past, or an automobile----" + +"Ach, yes, I'll be careful," Phoebe answered. + +A moment later she went down the boardwalk that led through the yard to +the little green gate at the country road. There she paused and looked +back at the farm with its old-fashioned house, her birthplace and home. + +The Metz homestead, erected in the days of home-grown flax and +spinning-wheels, was plain and unpretentious. Built of gray, rough-hewn +quarry stone it hid like a demure Quakeress behind tall evergreen trees +whose branches touched and interlaced in so many places that the +traveler on the country road caught but mere glimpses of the big gray +house. + +The old home stood facing the road that led northward to the little town +of Greenwald. Southward the road curved and wound itself about a steep +hill, sent its branches right and left to numerous farms while it, still +twisting and turning, went on to the nearest city, Lancaster, ten miles +distant. + +The Metz farm was just outside the southern limits of the town of +Greenwald. The spacious red barn stood on the very bank of Chicques +Creek, the boundary line. + +"It's awful pretty here to-day," Phoebe said aloud as she looked from +the house with its sheltering trees to the flower garden with its roses, +larkspur and other old-fashioned flowers, then to the background of +undulating fields and hills. "It's just vonderful pretty here to-day. +But, ach, I guess it's pretty most anywheres on a day like this--but not +in the house. Ugh, that patchin'! I want to forget it." + +As she closed the gate and entered the country road she caught sight of +a familiar figure just ahead. + +"Hello," she called. "Wait once, David! Is that you?" + +"No, it ain't me, it's my shadow!" came the answer as a boy, several +years older than Phoebe, turned and waited for her. + +"Ach, David Eby," she giggled, "you're just like Aunt Maria says still +you are--always cuttin' up and talkin' so abody don't know if you mean +it or what. Goin' in to town, too, once?" + +"Um-uh. Say, Phoebe, you want a rose to pin on?" he asked, turning to +her with a pink damask rose. + +"Why, be sure I do! I just like them roses vonderful much. We got 'em +too, big bushes of 'em, but Aunt Maria won't let me pull none off. +Where'd you get yourn?" + +"We got lots. Mom lets me pull off all I want. You pin it on and be +decorated for Greenwald. Where all you going, Phoebe?" + +"And I say thanks, too, David, for the rose," she said as she pinned the +rose to her dress. "Um, it smells good! Where am I goin'?" she +remembered his question. "Why, to the store and to Granny Hogendobler +and the post-office----" + +"Jimminy Crickets!" The boy stood still. "That's where I'm to go! Me and +mom both forgot about it. Mom wants a money order and said I'm to get it +the first time I go to town and here I am without the money. It's home +up the hill again for me." + +"Ach, David, don't you know that it's vonderful bad luck to go back for +something when you got started once?" + +The boy laughed. "It _is_ bad luck to have to climb that hill again. But +mom'll say what I ain't got in my head I got to have in my feet. They're +big enough to hold a lot, too, Phoebe, ain't they?" + +She giggled, then laughed merrily. "Ach," she said, "you say funny +things. You just make me laugh all the time. But it's mean, now, that +you are so dumb to forget and have to go back. I thought I'd have nice +company all the ways in, but mebbe I'll see you in Greenwald." + +"Mebbe. Goo'bye," said the boy and turned to the hill again. + +Phoebe stood a moment and looked after him. "My," she said to herself, +"but David Eby is a vonderful nice boy!" Then she started down the road, +a quaint, interesting little figure in her brown chambray dress with its +full, gathered skirt and its short, plain waist. But the face that +looked out from the blue sunbonnet was even more interesting. The blue +eyes, golden hair and fair coloring of the cheeks held promise of an +abiding beauty, but more than mere beauty was bounded by the ruffled +sunbonnet. There was an eagerness of expression, an alert understanding +in the deep eyes, a tender fluttering of the long lashes, an ever +varying animation in the child face, as though she were standing on +tiptoe to catch all the sunshine and glory of the great, beautiful world +about her. + +Phoebe went decorously down the road, across the wooden bridge over the +Chicques, then she began to skip. Her full skirt fluttered in the light +wind, her sunbonnet slipped back from her head and flapped as she hopped +along the half mile stretch of country road bordered by green fields and +meadows. + +"There's no houses here so I dare skip," she panted gleefully. "Aunt +Maria don't think it looks nice for girls to skip, but I like to do it. +I could just skip and skip and skip----" + +She stopped suddenly. In a meadow to her right a tangle of bulrushes +edged a small pond and, perched on a swaying reed, a red-winged +blackbird was calling his clear, "Conqueree, conqueree." + +"Oh, you pretty thing!" Phoebe cried as she leaned on the fence and +watched the bird. "You're just the prettiest thing with them red and +yellow spots on your wings. And you ain't afraid of me, not a bit. I +guess mebbe you know you got wings and I ain't. Such pretty wings you +got, too, and the rest of you is all black as coal. Mebbe God made you +black all over like a crow and then got sorry for you and put some +pretty spots on your wings. I wonder now"--her face sobered--"I just +wonder now why Aunt Maria says still that it's bad to fix up pretty with +curls and things like that and to wear fancy dresses. Why, many of the +birds are vonderful fine in gay feathers and the flowers are fancy and +the butterflies--ach, mebbe when I'm big I'll understand it better, or +mebbe I'll dress up pretty then too." + +With that cheering thought she turned again to the road and resumed her +walk, but the skipping mood had fled. She pulled her sunbonnet to its +proper place and walked briskly along, still enjoying thoroughly, though +less exuberantly, the beauty of the June morning. + +The scent of pink clover mingled with the odor of grasses and the +delicate perfume of sweetbrier. Wood sorrel nestled in the grassy +corners near the crude rail fences, daisies and spiked toad-flax grew +lavishly among the weeds of the roadside. In the meadows tall milkweed +swayed its clusters of pink and lavender, marsh-marigolds dotted the +grass with discs of pure gold, and Queen Anne's lace lifted its +parasols of exquisite loveliness. Phoebe reveled in it all; her cheeks +were glowing as she left the beauty of the country behind her and came +at last to the little town of Greenwald. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +OLD AARON'S FLAG + + +GREENWALD is an old town but it is a delightfully interesting one. It +does not wear its antiquity as an excuse for sinking into mouldering +uselessness. It presents, rather, a strange mingling of the quaint, +romantic and historic with the beautiful, progressive and modern. Though +it clings reverently to honored traditions it is ever mindful of the +fact that the welfare of its inhabitants is dependent upon reasonable +progress in its religious, educational and industrial life. + +The charming stamp of its antiquity is revealed in its great old trees; +its wide Market Square from which narrower streets branch to the east, +west, north and south; its numerous houses of the plain, substantial +type of several generations ago; its occasional little, low houses which +have withstood the march of modern building and stand squarely beside +houses of more elaborate and later design; but chiefly in its +old-fashioned gardens. All the old-time flowers are favorites there and +refuse to be displaced by any newcomer. Sweet alyssum and candytuft +spread carpets of bloom along the neat garden walks, hollyhocks and +dahlias look boldly out to the streets, while the old-fashioned +sweet-scented roses grow on great bushes which have been undisturbed for +three or more generations. + +To Phoebe Metz, Greenwald, with its two thousand inhabitants, its +several churches, post-office and numerous stores, seemed a veritable +city. She delighted in walking on its brick sidewalks, looking at its +different houses and entering its stores. How many attractions these +stores held for the little country girl! There was the big one on the +Square which had in one of its windows a great lemon tree on which grew +real lemons. Another store had a large Santa Claus in its window every +Christmas--not that Phoebe Metz had ever been taught to believe in that +patron saint of the children--oh, no! Maria Metz would have considered +it foolish, even sinful, to lie to a child about any mythical Santa +Claus coming down the chimney Christmas Eve! Nevertheless, the smiling, +rotund face of the red-habited Santa in the store window seemed so real +and so emanative of cheer that Phoebe delighted in him each year and +felt sure there must be a Santa Claus somewhere in the world, even +though Aunt Maria knew nothing about him. + +Most little towns can boast of one or more persons like Granny +Hogendobler, well-nigh community owned, certainly community +appropriated. Did any one need a helper in garden or kitchen or sewing +room, Granny Hogendobler was glad to serve. Did a housewife remember +that a rose geranium leaf imparts to apple jelly a delicious flavor, +Granny Hogendobler was able and willing to furnish the leaf. Did a lover +of flowers covet a new phlox or dahlia or other old-fashioned flower, +Granny Hogendobler was ready to give of her stock. Should a young wife +desire a recipe for crullers, shoo-fly pie, or other delectable dish, +Granny had a wealth of reliable recipes at her tongue's end. This +admirable desire to serve found ample opportunities for exercise in the +constant demands from her friends and neighbors. But Granny's greatest +joy lay in the fond ministrations for her husband, Old Aaron, as the +town people called him, half pityingly, half accusingly. For some said +Old Aaron was plain shiftless, had always been so, would remain so +forever, so long as he had Granny to do for him. Others averred that the +Confederate bullets that had shattered his leg into splinters and +necessitated its amputation must have gone astray and struck his +liver--leastways, that was the kindest explanation they could give for +his laziness. + +Granny stoutly refuted all these charges--gossip travels in circles in +small towns and sooner or later reaches those most concerned--"Aaron +lazy! I-to-goodness no! Why, he's old and what for should he go out and +work every day, I wonder. He helps me with the garden and so, and when I +go out to help somebody for a day or two he gets his own meals and tends +the chickens still. Some people thought a few years ago that he might +get work in the foundry, but I said I want him at home with me. He gets +a pension and we can live good on what we have without him slaving his +last years away, and him with one leg lost at Gettysburg!" she ended +proudly. + +So Old Aaron continued to live his life as pleased his mate and himself. +He pottered about the house and garden and spent long hours musing under +the grape arbor. But there was one day in every year when Old Aaron +came into his own. Every Memorial Day he dressed in his venerated blue +uniform and carried the flag down the dusty streets of Greenwald, out to +the dustier road to a spot a mile from the heart of the town, where, on +a sunny hilltop, some of his comrades rested in the Silent City. + +Only the infirm and the ill of the town failed to run to look as the +little procession passed down the street. There were boys in khaki, the +town band playing its best, volunteer firemen clad in vivid red shirts, +a low, hand-drawn wagon filled with flowers, an old cannon, also +hand-drawn, whose shots over the graves of the dead veterans would +thrill as they thrilled every May thirtieth--all received attention and +admiration from the watchers of the procession. But the real honors of +the day were accorded the "thin blue line of heroes," and Old Aaron was +one of these. To Granny Hogendobler, who walked with the crowd of +cheering children and adults and kept step on the sidewalk with the step +of the marchers on the street, it was evident that the standard bearer +was growing old. The steep climb near the cemetery entrance left him +breathless and flushed and each year Granny thought, "It's getting too +much for him to carry that flag." But each returning year she would have +spurned as earnestly as he any suggestion that another one be chosen to +carry that flag. And so every three hundred and sixty-fifth day the lean +straight figure of Old Aaron marched directly under the fluttering folds +of Old Glory and the soldier became a subject worthy of veneration, +then with customary nonchalance the little town forgot him again or +spoke of him as Old Aaron, a little lazy, a little shiftless, a little +childish, and Granny Hogendobler became the more important figure of +that household. + +Granny was fifteen years younger than her husband and was undeniably +rotund of hips and face, the former rotundity increased by her full +skirts, the latter accentuated by her style of wearing her hair combed +back into a tight knot near the top of her head and held in place by a +huge black back-comb. + +From this style of hair dressing it is evident that Granny was not a +member of any plain sect. She was, as she said, "An Evangelical, one of +the old kind yet. I can say Amen to the preacher's sermon and stand up +in prayer-meeting and tell how the Lord has blessed me." + +There were some who doubted the rich blessing of which Granny spoke. "I +wouldn't think the Lord blessed me so much," whispered one, "if I had a +man like Old Aaron, though I guess he's good enough to her. And that boy +of theirs never comes home; he must have a funny streak in him too." +"But think of this," one would answer, "how the Lord keeps her cheerful, +kind and faithful through all her troubles." + +Granny's was a wonderful garden. She and Old Aaron lived in a little +gray cube of a house that had its front face set straight to the edge of +Charlotte Street. However, the north side of the cube looked into a +great green yard where tall spruce trees, overrun with trumpet vines and +woodbine, shaded long beds of flowers that love semi-shady places. The +rear of the house overlooked an old-fashioned garden enclosed with a +white-washed picket fence. Always were there flowers at Granny's house. +In the cold days of winter blooming masses of geraniums, primroses and +gloxinias crowded against the little square panes of the windows and +looked defiantly out at the snow; while all the old favorites grew in +the garden, from the first March snowdrop to the late November +chrysanthemum. In June, therefore, the garden was a "Lovesome spot" +indeed. + +"It vonders me now if Granny's home," thought Phoebe as she opened the +wooden gate and entered the yard. + +"Here I am," called Granny. "Back in the garden. I-to-goodness, Phoebe, +did you come once! I just said yesterday to Aaron that I didn't see none +of you folks for long, and here you come! You haven't seen the flowers +for a while." + +"Oh!" Phoebe breathed an ecstatic little word of delight. "Oh, your +garden is just vonderful pretty!" + +"Ain't," agreed Granny. "Aaron and me's been working pretty hard in it +these weeks. There he is, out in the potato patch; see him?" + +Phoebe stood on tiptoe and looked where Granny's finger pointed to the +extreme end of the long vegetable garden, where the white head of Old +Aaron was bending over his hoeing. + +"He's hoeing the potatoes," Granny explained. "He don't see you. But +he'll soon be done and come in." + +"What were you doin'?" asked the child. + +"Weeding the flag." + +"Weedin' the flag--what do you mean?" Phoebe's eyes lighted with +eagerness. "I guess you mean mendin' the flag, Granny." She looked +toward the porch as if in search of Old Glory. + +"I said weeding the flag," the woman insisted. "It's an idea of Aaron's +and I guess I'll tell you about it, seeing your eyes are open so wide. +See the poppies, that long stretch of them in the middle of the garden?" + +"Um-uh," nodded Phoebe. + +"Well, that patch at the back is all red poppies, the buds just coming +on them nice and big. Then right in front of them is another patch of +white poppies; the buds are thick on them, too. And right in front of +them--you see what's there!" + +"Larkspur, blue larkspur!" cried Phoebe. "Oh, I see--it's red, white and +blue! You'll have it all summer in your garden!" + +"Yes. When it blooms it'll be a grand sight. I said to Aaron that we'll +have all the children of Greenwald in looking at his flag and he said he +hopes so, for they couldn't look at anything better than the colors of +Old Glory. Aaron's crazy about the flag." + +"'Cause he fought for it, mebbe." + +"Yes, I guess. His father died for it at Gettysburg, the same place +where Aaron lost his leg. . . . The only thing is, the larkspur's +getting ahead of the poppies--seems like the larkspur couldn't +wait"--her voice continued low--"I always love to see the larkspur +come." + +"I too," said the child. "I like to pull out the little slippers from +the middle of the flowers and fit 'em into each other and make circles +with 'em. I made a lot last summer and pressed 'em in a book, but Aunt +Maria made me stop." + +"That's just what Nason used to do. I have some pressed in the big Bible +yet that he made when he was a little boy." She spoke half-absently, as +though momentarily forgetful of the child's presence. + +"Who's Nason?" asked Phoebe. + +Granny started. "I-to-goodness, Phoebe, I forgot! You don't know him, +never heard of him, I guess. He's our boy. We had a little girl, too, +but she died." + +"Did the boy die too, Granny?" + +"No, ach no! You wouldn't understand. He's living in the city. He writes +to me often but he don't come home. He and his pop fell out about the +flag once when Nason was young and foolish and they're both too stubborn +to forget it." + +"But he'll come back some day and live with you, of course, won't he?" +Phoebe comforted her. + +"Yes--some day they'll see things different. But now don't you bother +that head of yourn with such things. You forget all about Nason. Come +now, sit on the bench a little under the arbor." + +"Just a little. I must go to the store yet." + +"You have lots to do." + +"Yes. And I almost forgot what I come for. Aunt Maria wants you should +come out to our place to-morrow early and help with the strawberries if +you can." + +"I'll come. I like to come to your place. Your Aunt Maria is so straight +out, nothing false about her. I like her. But now I bet you're thinking +of how many berries you can eat," she added as she noted the child's +abstracted look. + +"No--I was thinkin'--I was just thinkin' what a funny name Nason is, +like you tried to say Nathan and got your tongue twisted." + +"It's a real name, but you must forget all about it." + +"If I can. Sometimes Aunt Maria tells me to forget things, like wantin' +curls and fancy things and pretty dresses but I don't see how I can +forget when I remember, do you?" + +"It's hard," Granny said, a deeper meaning in her words than the child +could comprehend. "It's the hardest thing in the world to forget what +you want to forget. But here comes Aaron----" + +"Well, well, if here ain't Phoebe Metz with her eyes shining and a pink +rose pinned to her waist and matching the roses in her cheeks!" the old +soldier said as he joined the two under the arbor. "Whew! Mebbe it ain't +hot hoeing potatoes!" + +"You're all heated up, Aaron," said Granny. His fifteen years seniority +warranted a solicitous watchfulness over him, she thought. "Now you get +cooled off a little and I'll make some lemonade. It'll taste good to me +and Phoebe, too." + +"All right, Ma," Aaron sighed in relaxation. "You know how to touch the +spot. Did you tell Phoebe about the flag?" + +"Yes." + +"Oh, I think it's fine!" cried the child. "I can't wait till all the +flowers bloom. I want to see it." + +"You'll see it," promised the man. "And you bring all the boys and girls +in too." + +"And then will you tell us about the war and the Battle of Gettysburg? +David Eby says he heard you once tell about it. I think it was at some +school celebration. And he says it was grand, just like being there +yourself." + +"A little safer," laughed the old soldier. "But, yes, when the poppies +bloom you bring the children in and I'll tell you about the war and the +flag." + +"I'll remember. I love to hear about the war. Old Johnny Schlegelmilch +from way up the country comes to our place still to sell brooms, and +once last summer he came and it began to thunder and storm and pop said +he shall stay till it's over and then he told me all about the war. He +said our flag's the prettiest in the whole world." + +"So it is," solemnly affirmed Old Aaron. + +"I wonder if anybody it belongs to could help liking it," said the +child, remembering Granny's words. + +"Well," the veteran answered slowly, "I knew a young fellow once, a nice +fellow he seemed, too, and his father a soldier who fought for the flag. +Well, the father was always talking about the flag and what it means and +how every man should be ready to fight for it. And one day the boy said +that he would never fight for it and be shot to pieces, that the old +flag made him sick, and one soldier in the family was enough." + +"Oh!" Phoebe opened her eyes wide in surprise and horror. + +"And the father told the boy," the old man went on in a fixed voice as +though the veriest details of the story were vividly before him, "that +if he would not take back those words he never wanted to see him again. +It was better to have no son, than such a son, a coward who hated the +flag." + +Here Granny appeared with the lemonade and the story was abruptly ended. +Phoebe refrained from questioning the man about the story but as she sat +under the arbor and afterwards, as she started up the street of the +little town, she wondered over and over how a boy could be the son of a +soldier and hate the flag, and whether the story Old Aaron told her was +the story of himself and Nason. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +LITTLE DUTCHIE + + +"AUNT MARIA said I dare look around a little," thought Phoebe as she +neared the big store on the Square. Her heart beat more quickly as she +turned the knob of the heavy door--little things still thrilled her, +going to the store in Greenwald was an event! + +The clerk's courteous, "What can I do for you?" bewildered her for an +instant but she swallowed hard and said, "Why, we want twenty pounds of +granulated sugar; ourn is almost all and Aunt Maria wants to make some +strawberry jelly to-morrow. She said for Jonas to fetch it along on his +home road." + +"All right. Out to Jacob Metz?" + +"Yes, he's my pop." + +"I see. Anything else?" + +"Three spools white thread, number fifty." + +"Anything else?" + +She shook her head as she handed him the money. "No, that's all for +to-day. But Aunt Maria said I dare look around a little if I don't touch +things." + +"Look all you want," said the clerk and turned away, smiling. + +Phoebe began a slow tramp about the big store. There was the same glass +case filled with jewelry. The rings and pins rested on satin that had +faded long since, the jewelry itself was tarnished but it held Phoebe's +interest with its meagre glistening. One little ring with a tiny +turquoise aroused her desire but she realized that she was longing for +the impossible, so she moved away from the coveted treasures and paused +before the ribbons. Some of those same ribbons had been in the tall +revolving case ever since she could remember going to that store. The +pale sea-green and the crushed-strawberry were faded horribly, yet she +looked at them with longing. "Suppose," she thought, "I dared pick out +any ribbon I want for a sash--guess I'd take that funny pink one, or +mebbe that nice blue one. But I kinda think I'd rather have a set of +dishes or a doll. But then I got that rag doll at home and that pretty +one that pop got for me in Lancaster and that Aunt Maria won't leave me +play with. That's funny now, that she says still I daren't play with it +for I might break it, that I shall keep it till I'm big. But when I'm +big I won't want a doll, and then I vonder what! What will I do with it +then?" + +She stood a long time before a table crowded with a motley gathering of +toys, dolls and books. With so much coveted treasure before her it was +hard to remember Aunt Maria's injunction to refrain from touching. + +"Well, anyhow," she decided finally, "I won't need any of these things +to play with now, for I'm going to be out in the garden and the yard +with the flowers and birds. So I guess my old rag doll will be plenty +for playin' with. But I mustn't look too long else Aunt Maria won't +leave me come in soon again. I'll walk down the other side of the store +now yet and then I must go." + +She passed slowly along, her keen eyes noticing the varied assortment of +articles displayed for sale. A long line of red handkerchiefs was +fastened to a cord high above one counter. Long shelves were stacked +high with ginghams, calicoes and finer dress materials. There were gaudy +rugs and blankets tacked to the walls near the ceiling. Counters were +filled with glassware, china and crockery; other counters were laden +with umbrellas, hats, shoes---- + +"Ach," she sighed as she went out to the street, "I think this goin' to +Greenwald to the store is vonderful nice! It's most as much fun as goin' +in to Lancaster, only there I go in a trolley and I see black +niggers"--she spoke the word with a little shiver, for Greenwald had no +negro residents--"and once in there me and Aunt Maria saw a Chinaman +with a long plait like a girl's hangin' down his back!" + +After asking for the mail at the post-office she turned homeward, +feeling like singing from sheer happiness. Then she looked down at her +pink damask rose--it was withered. + +"I'm goin' home now so I guess I won't be decorated no more." She +unpinned the flower, clasped its short stem in her hand and raised the +blossom to her face. + +"Um-m-m!" She drew deep breaths of the rose's perfume. "Um-m!" + +"Does it smell good?" + +Phoebe turned her head at the voice and looked into the face of a young +woman who sat on the porch of a near-by house. + +"Does it smell good?" The question came again, accompanied by a broad +smile. + +Quickly the hand holding the flower dropped to the child's side, her +eyes were cast down to the brick pavement and she went hurriedly down +the street. But not so hurriedly that she failed to hear the words, +"LITTLE DUTCHIE" and a merry laugh from the young woman. + +"She--she laughed at me!" Phoebe murmured to herself under the blue +sunbonnet. "I don't know who she is, but that was at Mollie Stern's +house that she sat--that lady that laughed at me. She called me a +Dutchie!" + +The child stabbed a fist into one eye and then into the other to fight +back the tears. She felt sure that the appellation of Dutchie was not +complimentary. Hadn't she heard the boys at school tease each other by +calling, "Dutchie, Dutchie, sauer kraut!" But no one had ever called her +that before! Her heart ached as she went down the street of the little +town. She had planned to look at all the gardens of the main street as +she walked home but the glory of the June day was spoiled for her. She +did not care to look at any gardens. The laughing words, "Does it smell +good?" rang in her ears. The name, "Little Dutchie," sent her heart +throbbing. + +After the first hurt a feeling of wrath rose in her. "Anyhow," she +thought, "it's no disgrace to be a Dutchie! Nobody needn't laugh at me +for that. But I just hate that lady that laughed at me! I hate everybody +that pokes fun at me. And I ain't goin' to always be a Dutchie. You see +once if I don't be something else when I grow up!" + +"Hello, Phoebe," a cheery voice rang out, followed by a deeper +exclamation, "Phoebe!" as she came to the last intersection of streets +in the town and turned to enter the country road. + +She turned a sober little face to the speakers, David Eby and his +cousin, Phares Eby. + +"Hello," she answered listlessly. + +"What's wrong?" asked the older boy as they joined her. + +Both were plainly country boys accustomed to hard farm work, but their +tanned faces were frank and honest under broad straw hats. Each bore +marked family resemblances in their big frames, dark eyes and +well-shaped heads, but there was a distinct line drawn between their +personalities. Phares Eby at sixteen was grave, studious and dignified; +his cousin, David, two years younger, was a cheery, laughing, sociable +boy, fond of boyish sports, delighting in teasing his schoolmates and +enjoying their retaliation, preferring a tramp through the woods to the +best book ever written. + +The boys lived on adjacent farms and had long been the nearest neighbors +of the Metz family; thus they had become Phoebe's playmates. Then, too, +the Eby families were members of the Church of the Brethren, the mothers +of the boys were old friends of Maria Metz, and a deep friendship +existed among them all. Phoebe and the two boys attended the same +little country school and had become frankly fond of each other. + +"What's wrong?" asked Phares again as Phoebe hung her head and remained +silent. + +"Ach," laughed David, "somebody's broke her dolly." + +"Nobody ain't not broke my dolly, David Eby!" she said crossly. "I +wouldn't cry for _that_!" + +"What's wrong then?--come on, Phoebe." He pushed the sunbonnet back and +patted her roguishly on the head. But she drew away from him. + +"Don't you touch me," she cried. "I'm a Dutchie!" + +"What?" + +She tossed her head and became silent again. + +"Come on, tell me," coaxed David. "I want to know what's wrong. Why, if +you don't tell me I'll be so worried I won't be able to eat any dinner, +and I'm so hungry now I could eat nails." + +The girl laughed suddenly in spite of herself--"Ach, David, you're awful +simple! Abody has to laugh at you. I was mad, for when I was in +Greenwald I was smellin' a rose, that pink rose you gave me, and some +lady on Mollie Stern's porch laughed at me and called me a LITTLE +DUTCHIE! Now wouldn't you got mad for that?" + +But David threw back his head and laughed. "And you were ready to cry at +that?" he said. "Why, I'm a Dutchie, so is Phares, so's most of the +people round here. Ain't so, Phares?" + +"Yes, guess so," the older boy assented, his eyes still upon Phoebe. +"D'ye know," he said, addressing her, "when you were cross a few minutes +ago your eyes were almost black. You shouldn't get so angry still, +Phoebe." + +"I don't care," she retorted quickly, "I don't care if my eyes was +purple!" + +"But you should care," persisted the boy gravely. "I don't like you so +angry." + +"Ach," she flashed an indignant look at him--"Phares Eby, you're by far +too bossy! I like David best; he don't boss me all the time like you +do!" + +David laughed but Phares appeared hurt. + +Phoebe was quick to note it. "Now I hurt you like that lady hurt me, +ain't, Phares?" she said contritely. "But I didn't mean to hurt you, +Phares, honest." + +"But you like me best," said David gaily. "You can't take that back, +remember." + +She gave him a scornful look. Then she remembered the flag in the +Hogendobler garden and became happy and eager again as she said, "Oh, +Phares, David, I know the best secret!" + +"Can't keep it, I bet!" challenged David. + +"Can't I?" she retorted saucily. "Now for that I won't tell you till you +get good and anxious. But then it's not really a secret." The flag of +growing flowers was too glorious a thing to keep; she compromised--"I'll +tell you, because it's not a real secret." And she proceeded to unfold +with earnest gesticulations the story about the flowers of red and white +and blue and the invitation for all who cared to come and see the +colors of Old Glory growing in the garden of Old Aaron and Granny, and +of the added pleasure of hearing Old Aaron tell his thrilling story of +the battle of Gettysburg. + +"I won't want to hear about any battle," said Phares. "I think war is +horrible, awful, wicked." + +"Mebbe so," said the girl, "but the poor men who fight in wars ain't +always awful, horrible, wicked. You needn't turn your nose up at the old +soldiers. Folks call Old Aaron lazy, I heard 'em a'ready, lots of times, +but I bet some of them wouldn't have fought like he did and left a leg +at Gettysburg and--ach, I think Old Aaron is just vonderful grand!" she +ended in an impulsive burst of eloquence. + +"Hooray!" shouted David. "So do I! When he carries the flag out the pike +every Decoration Day he's somebody, all right." + +"Ain't now!" agreed Phoebe. + +"Been in the stores?" David asked her, feeling that a change of subject +might be wise. + +"Yes." + +"See anything pretty?" + +"Ach, yes. A lots of things. I saw the prettiest finger ring with a blue +stone in. I wish I had it." + +"What would Aunt Maria say to that?" wondered David. + +"Ach, she'd say that so long as my finger ain't broke I don't need a +band on it. But I looked at the ring at any rate and wished I had it." + +"You dare never wear gold rings," Phares told her. + +"Not now," she returned, "but some day when I'm older mebbe I'll wear a +lot of 'em if I want." + +The words set the boys thinking. Each wondered what manner of woman +their little playmate would become. + +"I bet she'll be a good-looking one," thought David. "She'd look swell +dressed up fine like some of the people I see in town." + +"Of course she'll turn plain some day like her aunt," thought the other +boy. "She'll look nice in the plain dress and the white cap." + +Phoebe, ignorant of the visions her innocent words had called to the +hearts of her comrades, chattered on until they reached the little green +gate of the Metz farm. + +"Now you two must climb the hill yet. I'm glad I'm home. I'm hungry." + +"And me," the boys answered, and with good-byes were off on the winding +road up the hill. + +As Phoebe turned the corner of the big gray house she came face to face +with her father. + +"So here you are, Phoebe," he said, smiling at sight of her. "Your Aunt +Maria sent me out to look if you were coming. It's time to eat. Been to +the store, ain't?" + +"Yes, pop. I went alone." + +"So? Why, you're getting a big girl, now you can go to Greenwald alone." + +"Ach," she laughed. "Why, it's just straight road." + +They crossed the porch and entered the kitchen hand-in-hand, the +sunbonneted little girl and the big farmer. Jacob Metz was also a member +of the Church of the Brethren and bore the distinctive mark: hair parted +in the middle and combed straight back over his ears and cut so that the +edge of it almost touched his collar. A heavy black beard concealed his +chin, mild brown eyes gleamed beneath a pair of heavy black brows. Only +in the wide, high forehead and the resolute mouth could be seen any +resemblance between him and the fair child by his side. + +When they entered the kitchen Maria Metz turned from the stove, where +she had been stirring the contents of a big iron pan. + +"So you got back safe, after all, Phoebe," she said with a sigh of +relief. "I was afraid mebbe something happened to you, with so many +streets to go across and so many teams all the time and the +automobiles." + +"Ach, I look both ways still before I start over. Granny Hogendobler +said she'll get out early." + +"So. What did she have to say?" + +"Ach, lots. She showed me her flowers. Ain't it too bad, now, that her +little girl died and her boy went away?" + +"Well, she spoiled that boy. He grew up to be not much account if he +stays away just because he and his pop had words once." + +"But he'll come back some day. Granny knows he will." The child echoed +the old mother's confidence. + +"Not much chance of that," said Aunt Maria with her usual decisiveness. +"When a man goes off like that he mostly always stays off. He writes to +her she says and I guess she's just as good off with that as if he come +home to live. She's lived this long without him." + +"But," argued Phoebe, the maternal in her over-sweeping all else, "he's +her boy and she wants him back!" + +"Ach," the aunt said impatiently, "you talk too much. Were you at the +store?" + +"Yes. I got the thread and ordered the sugar and counted the change and +there was nothing in the post-office for us." + +"Did you enjoy your trip to town?" asked the father. + +"Yes--but----" + +"But what?" demanded Aunt Maria. "Did you break anything in the store +now?" + +"No. I just got mad. It was this way"--and she told the story of her +pink rose. + +Maria Metz frowned. "David Eby should leave his mom's roses on the +stalks where they belong. Anyhow, I guess you did look funny if you +poked your nose in it like you do still here." + +"But she had no business to laugh at me, had she, pop?" + +"You're too touchy," he said kindly. "But did you say the lady was on +Mollie Stern's porch?" + +"Yes." + +"Then I guess it was her cousin from Philadelphia, the one that was +elected to teach the school on the hill for next winter." + +"Oh, pop, not our school?" + +"Yes. Anyhow, her cousin was elected yesterday to teach your school. It +seems she wanted to teach in the country and Mollie's pop is friends +with a lot of our directors and they voted her in." + +"I ain't goin' to school then!" Phoebe almost sobbed. "I don't like her, +I don't want to go to her school; she laughed at me." + +"Come, come," the father laid his hands on her head and spoke gently yet +in a tone that she respected. "You mustn't get worked up over it. She's +a nice young lady, and it will be something new to have a teacher from +Philadelphia. Anyhow, it's a long ways yet till school begins." + +"I'm glad it is." + +"Come," interrupted the aunt, "help now to dish up. It's time to eat +once. We're Pennsylvania Dutch, so what's the use gettin' cross when +we're called that?" + +"Yes," Phoebe's father said, smiling, "I'm a Dutchie too, but I'm a big +Dutchie." + +Phoebe smiled, but all through the meal and during the days that +followed she thought often of the rose. Her heart was bitter toward the +new teacher and she resolved never, never to like her! + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +THE NEW TEACHER + + +THE first Monday in September was the opening day of the rural school on +the hill. Phoebe woke that morning before daylight. At four she heard +her Aunt Maria tramp about in heavy shoes. It was Monday and wash-day +and to Maria Metz the two words were so closely linked that nothing less +than serious illness or death could part them. + +"Ach, my," Phoebe sighed as she turned again under her red and green +quilt, "this is the first day of school! Wish Aunt Maria'd forget to +call me till it's too late to go." + +At five-thirty she heard her father go down-stairs and soon after that +came her aunt's loud call, "Phoebe, it's time to get up. Get up now and +get down for I have breakfast made." + +"Yes," came the dreary answer. + +"Now don't you go asleep again." + +"No, I'm awake. Shall I dress right aways for school?" + +"No. Put on your old brown gingham once." + +Phoebe made a wry face. "Ugh, that ugly brown gingham! What for did +anybody ever buy brown when there are such pretty colors in the stores?" + +A moment later she pushed back the gay quilt and sat on the edge of the +bed. The first gleams of day-break sent bright streaks of light into her +room as she sat on the high walnut bed and swung her bare feet back and +forth. + +"It's the first time I wasn't glad for school," she soliloquized softly. +"I used to could hardly wait still, and I'd be glad this time if we +didn't have that teacher from Phildelphy. Miss Virginia Lee her name is, +and she's pretty like the name, but I don't like her! Guess she's that +stuck up, comin' from the city, that she'll laugh all the time at us +country people. I don't like people that poke fun at me, you bet I +don't! I vonder now, mebbe I am funny to look at, that she laughed at +me. But if I was I think somebody would 'a' told me long ago. I don't +see what for she laughed so at me." + +She sprang from the bed and ran to the window, pulled the cord of the +green shade and sent it rattling to the top. Then she stood on tiptoe +before the mirror in the walnut bureau, but the glass was hung too high +for a satisfactory scrutiny of her features. She pushed a cane-seated +chair before the bureau, knelt upon it and brought her face close to the +glass. + +"Um," she surveyed herself soberly. "Well, now, mebbe if my hair was +combed I'd look better." + +She pulled the tousled braids, opened them and shook her head until the +golden hair hung about her face in all its glory. + +"Why"--she gasped at the sudden change she had wrought, then laughed +aloud from sheer childish happiness in her own miracle--"Why," she said +gladly, "I ain't near so funny lookin' with my hair opened and down +instead of pulled back in two tight plaits! But I wish Aunt Maria'd +leave me have curls. I'd have a lot, and long ones, longer'n Mary +Warner's." + +"Phoebe!" Aunt Maria's voice startled the little girl. "What in the +world are you doing lookin' in that glass so? And your knees on a +cane-bottom chair! You know better than that. What for are you lookin' +at yourself like that? You ought to be ashamed to be so vain." + +Phoebe left the chair and looked at her aunt. + +"Why," she said in an amazed voice, "I wasn't being vain! I was just +lookin' to see if I am funny lookin' that it made Miss Lee laugh at me. +And I found out that I'm much nicer to look at with my hair open than in +plaits. You say still I mustn't have curls, but can't you see how much +nicer I look this way----" + +"Ach," interrupted her aunt, "don't talk so dumb! I guess you ain't any +funnier lookin' than other people, and if you was it wouldn't matter +long as you're a good girl." + +"But I wouldn't be a good girl if I looked like some people I saw +a'ready. If I had such big ears and crooked nose and big mouth----" + +"Phoebe, you talk vonderful! Where do you get such nonsense put in your +head?" + +"I just think it and then I say it. But was that bad? I didn't mean it +for bad." + +She looked so like a cherub of absolute innocency with her deep blue +eyes opened wide in wonder, her golden hair tumbled about her face and +streaming over the shoulders of her white muslin nightgown, that Aunt +Maria, though she had never heard of Reynolds' cherubs, was moved by the +adorable picture. + +"I know, Phoebe," she said kindly, "that you want to be a good girl. But +you say such funny things still that I vonder sometimes if I'm raisin' +you the right way. Come, hurry, now get dressed. Your pop's goin' way +over to the field near Snavely's and you want to give him good-bye +before he goes to work." + +"I'll hurry, Aunt Maria, honest I will," the child promised and began to +dress. + +A little while later when she appeared in the big kitchen her father and +Aunt Maria were already eating breakfast. With her hair drawn back into +one uneven braid and a rusty brown dress upon her she seemed little like +the adorable figure of the looking-glass, but her father's face lighted +as he looked at her. + +"So, Phoebe," he said, a teasing twinkle in his eyes, "I see you get up +early to go to school." + +"But I ain't glad to go." She refused to smile at his words. + +"Ach, yes," he coaxed, "you be a good girl and like your new teacher. +She's nice. I guess you'll like her when you know her once." + +"Mebbe so," was the unpromising answer as she slipped the straps of a +blue checked apron over her shoulders, buttoned it in the back and took +her place at the table. + +Breakfast at the Metz farm was no light meal. Between the early morning +meal and the twelve o'clock dinner much hard work was generally +accomplished and Maria Metz felt that a substantial foundation was +necessary. Accordingly, she carried to the big, square cherry table in +the kitchen an array of well-filled dishes. There was always a glass +dish of stewed prunes or seasonable fresh fruit; a plate piled high with +thick slices of home-made bread; several dishes of spreadings, as the +jellies, preserves or apple-butter of that community are called. There +was a generous square of home-made butter, a platter of home-cured ham +or sausage, a dish of fried or creamed potatoes, a smaller dish of +pickles or beets, and occasionally a dome of glistening cup cheese. The +meal would have been considered incomplete without a liberal supply of +cake or cookies, coffee in huge cups and yellow cream in an +old-fashioned blue pitcher. + +That morning Aunt Maria had prepared an extra treat, a platter of golden +slices of fried mush. + +The two older people partook heartily of the food before them but the +child ate listlessly. Her aunt soon exclaimed, "Now, Phoebe, you must +eat or you'll get hungry till recess. You know this is the first day of +school and you can't run for a cookie if you get hungry. You ain't +eatin'; you feel bad?" + +"No, but I ain't hungry." + +"Come now," urged her father, as he poured a liberal helping of molasses +on his sixth piece of mush, "you must eat. You surely don't feel that +bad about going to school!" + +"Ach, pop," she burst out, "I don't hate the school part, the learnin' +in books; that part is easy. But I don't like the teacher, and I guess +she laughed at my tight braids. Mebbe if I dared wear curls---- Oh, +pop, daren't I have curls? I'd like to show her that I look nice that +way. Say I dare, then I won't be so funny lookin' no more!" + +Jacob Metz looked at his offspring--what did the child mean? Why, he +thought she was right sweet and surely her aunt kept her clean and tidy. +But before he could answer his sister spoke authoritatively. + +"Jacob, I wish you'd tell her once that she daren't have curls! She just +plagues me all the time for 'em. Her hair was made to be kept back and +not hangin' all over." + +"Why then," Phoebe asked soberly, "did God make my hair curly if I +daren't have curls?" She spoke with a sense of knowing that she had +propounded an unanswerable question. + +"That part don't matter," evaded Aunt Maria. "You ask your pop once how +he wants you to have your hair fixed." + +The child looked up expectantly but she read the answer in her father's +face. + +"I like your hair back in plaits, Phoebe. You look nice that way." + +"Ach," her nose wrinkled in disgust, "not so very, I guess. Mary Warner +has curls, always she has curls!" + +"Come," said the father as he rose from his chair, "you be a good girl +now to-day. I'm going now." + +"All right, pop. I'll tell you to-night how I like the teacher." + +After the breakfast dishes were washed and the other morning tasks +accomplished Phoebe brought her comb and ribbons to her aunt and sat +patiently on a spindle-legged kitchen chair while the woman carefully +parted the long light hair and formed it into two braids, each tied at +the end with a narrow brown ribbon. + +"Now," Aunt Maria said as she unbuttoned the despised brown dress, "you +dare put on your blue chambray dress if you take care and not get it +dirty right aways." + +"Oh, I'm glad for that. I like that dress best of all I have. It's not +so long in the body or tight or long in the skirt like my other dresses. +And blue is a prettier color than brown. I'll hurry now and get +dressed." + +She ran up the wide stairs, her hands skimming lightly the white +hand-rail, and entered the little room known as the clothes-room, where +the best clothes of the family were hung on heavy hooks fastened along +the entire length of the four walls. She soon found the blue chambray +dress. It was extremely simple. The plain gathered skirt was fastened to +the full waist by a wide belt of the chambray. But the dress bore one +distinctive feature. Instead of the usual narrow band around the neck it +was adorned with a wide round collar which lay over the shoulders. +Phoebe knew that the collar was vastly becoming and the knowledge always +had a soothing effect upon her. + +When the call of the school bell floated down the hill to the gray +farmhouse Phoebe picked up her school bag and her tin lunch kettle and +started off, outwardly in happier mood yet loath to go to the old +schoolhouse for the first session of school. + +From the Metz farm the road to the school began to ascend. Gradually it +curved up-hill, then suddenly stretched out in a long, steep climb +until, upon the summit of the hill, it curved sharply to the west to a +wide clearing. It was to this clearing the little country schoolhouse +with its wide porch and snug bell-tower called the children back to +their studies. + +Goldenrod and asters grew along the road, dogwood branches hung their +scarlet berries over the edge of the woods, but Phoebe would have +scorned to gather any of the flowers she loved and carry them to the new +teacher. "I ain't bringing _her_ any flowers," she soliloquized. + +She trudged soberly ahead. As she reached the summit of the hill several +children called to her. From three roads came other children, most of +them carrying baskets or kettles filled with the noon lunch. All were +eager for the opening of school, anxious to "see the new teacher once." + +From the farm nearest the schoolhouse Phares Eby had come for his last +year in the rural school. From the little cottage on the adjoining farm +David Eby came whistling down the road. + +"Hello, Phoebe," he called as he drew near to her. "Glad for school?" + +"I ain't!" She flung the words at him. "You know good enough I ain't." + +"Ha, ha," he laughed, "don't be cranky, Phoebe. Here comes Phares and +he'll tell you that your eyes are black when you're cross. Won't you, +Phares?" + +"I----" began the sober youth, but Phoebe rudely interrupted. + +"I don't care. I don't like the new teacher." + +"You must like everybody," said Phares. + +"Well, I just guess I won't! There's Mary Warner with her white dress +and her black curls with a pink bow on them--you don't think I'm likin' +her when she's got what I want and daren't have? Come on, it's time to +go in," she added as Phares would have remonstrated with her for her +frank avowal of jealousy. "Let's go in and see what the teacher's got +on." + +"Gee," whistled David, "girls are always thinking of clothes." + +Phoebe gave him a disdainful look, but he laughed and walked by her +side, up the three steps, across the porch and into the schoolhouse. + +The red brick schoolhouse on the hill was a typical country school of +Lancaster County. It had one large room with four rows of double desks +and seats facing the teacher's desk and a long blackboard with its +border of A B C. A stove stood in one of the corners in the front of the +room. In the rear numerous hooks in the wall waited for the children's +wraps and a low bench stood ready to receive their lunch baskets and +kettles. Each detail of the little schoolhouse was reproduced in scores +of other rural schools of that community. And yet, somehow, many of the +older children felt on that first Monday a hope that their school would +be different that year, that the teacher from Philadelphia would change +many of the old ways and teach them, what Youth most desires, new ways, +new manners, new things. It is only as the years bring wisdom that men +and women appreciate the old things of life, as well as the new. + +The new teacher became at once the predominating spirit of that little +group. The interest of all the children, from the shy little beginners +in the Primer class to the tall ones in the A class, was centered about +her. + +Miss Lee stood by her desk as Phoebe and the two boys entered. It was +still that delightful period, before-school, when laughter could be +released and voices raised without a fear of "keep quiet." The children +moved to the teacher's desk as though drawn by magnetic force. Mary +Warner, her dark curls hanging over her shoulders, appeared already +acquainted with her. Several tiny beginners stood near the desk, a few +older scholars were bravely offering their services to fetch water from +Eby's "whenever it's all or you want some fresh," or else stay and clap +the erasers clean. + +When the second tug at the bell-rope gave the final call for the opening +of school there was an air of gladness in the room. The new teacher +possessed enough of the elusive "something" the country children felt +belonged to a teacher from a big city like Philadelphia. The way she +conducted the opening exercises, led the singing, and then proceeded +with the business of arranging classes and assigning lessons served to +intensify the first feelings of satisfaction. When recess came the +children ran outdoors, ostensibly to play, but rather to gather into +little groups and discuss the merits of the new teacher. The general +verdict was, "She's all right." + +"Ain't she all right?" David Eby asked Phoebe as they stood in the brown +grasses near the school porch. + +"Ach, don't ask me that so often!" + +"But honest now, Phoebe, don't you like her?" + +"I don't know." + +"When will you know?" + +"I don't know," came the tantalizing answer. + +"Ach, sometimes, Phoebe, you make me mad! You act dumb just like the +other girls sometimes." + +"Then keep away from me if you don't like me," she retorted. + +"Sassbox!" said the boy and walked away from her. + +The little tilt with David did not improve the girl's humor. She entered +the schoolroom with a sulky look on her face, her blue eyes dark and +stormy. Accordingly, when Mary Warner shook her enviable curls and +leaned forward to whisper ecstatically, "Phoebe, don't you just love the +new teacher?" Phoebe replied very decidedly, "I do not! I don't like her +at all!" + +For a moment Mary held her breath, then a surprised "Oh!" came from her +lips and she raised her hand and waved it frantically to attract the +teacher's attention. + +"What is it, Mary?" + +"Why, Miss Lee, Phoebe Metz says she don't like you at all!" + +"Did she ask you to tell me?" A faint flush crept into the face of the +teacher. + +"No--but----" + +"Then that will do, Mary." + +But Phoebe Metz did not dismiss the matter so easily. She turned in her +seat and gave one of Mary's obnoxious curls a vigorous yank. + +"Tattle-tale!" she hurled out madly. "Big tattle-tale!" + +"Yank 'em again," whispered David, seated a few seats behind the girls, +but Phares called out a soft, "Phoebe, stop that." + +It all occurred in a moment--the yank, the outcry of Mary, the whispers +of the two boys and the subsequent pause in the matter of teaching and +the centering of every child's attention upon the exciting incident and +wondering what Miss Lee would do with the disturbers of the peace. + +"Phoebe," the teacher's voice was controlled and forceful, "you may fold +your hands. You do not seem to know what to do with them." + +Phoebe folded her hands and bowed her head in shame. She hadn't meant to +create a disturbance. What would her father say when he knew she was +scolded the first day of school! + +The teacher's voice went on, "Mary Warner, you may come to me at noon. I +want to tell you a few things about tale-bearing. Phoebe may remain +after the others leave this afternoon." + +"Kept in!" thought Phoebe disconsolately. She was going to be kept in +the first day! Never before had such punishment been meted out to her! +The disgrace almost overwhelmed her. + +"Now I won't ever, ever, ever like her!" she thought as she bent her +head to hide the tears. + +The remainder of the day was like a blurred page to her. She was glad +when the other children picked up their books and empty baskets and +kettles and started homeward. + +"Cheer up," whispered David as he passed out, but she was too miserable +to smile or answer. + +"Come on, David," urged Phares when the two cousins reached outdoors and +the younger one seemed reluctant to go home. "Don't stay here to pet +Phoebe when she comes out." + +"Ach, the poor kid"--David was all sympathy and tenderness. + +"Let her get punished. Pulling Mary's hair like that!" + +"Well, Mary tattled. I was wishing Phoebe'd yank that darned kid's hair +half off." + +"Mary just told the truth. You think everything Phoebe does is right and +you help her along in her temper. She needs to be punished sometimes." + +"Ach, you make me tired, standing up for a tattle-tale! Anyhow, you go +on home. I'm goin' to hang round a while and see if Miss Lee does +anything mean." + +Phares went on alone and the other boy stole to a window and crouched to +the ground. + +Inside the room Phoebe waited tremblingly for the teacher to speak. It +seemed ages before Miss Lee walked down the aisle and stood by the low +desk. + +Phoebe raised her head--the look in the dark eyes of the teacher filled +her with a sudden reversion of feeling. How could she go on hating any +one so beautiful! + +"Phoebe, I'm sorry--I'm so sorry there has been any trouble the first +day and that you have been the cause of it." + +"I--ach, Miss Lee," the child blurted out half-sobbingly, "Mary, she +tattled on me." + +"That was wrong, of course. I made her understand that at noon. But +don't you think that pulling her hair and creating a disturbance was +equally wrong?" + +"I guess so, mebbe. But I didn't mean to make no fuss. I--I--why, I just +get so mad still! I hadn't ought to pull her hair, for that hurts +vonderful much." + +"Then you might tell her to-morrow how sorry you are about it." + +"Yes." Phoebe looked up at the lovely face of the teacher. She felt that +some explanation of Mary's tale was necessary. "Why, now," she +stammered, "you know--you know that Mary said I said I don't like you?" + +"Yes." + +"Why, this summer once, early in June it was"--the child hung her head +and spoke almost inaudibly--"you laughed at me and called me a LITTLE +DUTCHIE!" She looked up bravely then and spoke faster, "And for that, +it's just for that I don't like you like all the others do a'ready." + +"Laughed at you!" Miss Lee was perplexed. "You must be mistaken." + +But Phoebe shook her head resolutely and told the story of the pink +rose. Miss Lee listened at first with an incredulous smile upon her +face, then with dawning remembrance. + +"You dear child!" she cried as Phoebe ended her quaint recital. "So you +are the little girl of the sunbonnet and the rose! I thought this +morning I had seen you before. But you don't understand! I didn't laugh +at you in the way you think. Why, I laughed at you just as we laugh at a +dear little baby, because we love it and because it is so dear and +sweet. And DUTCHIE was just a pet name. Can't you understand? You were +so quaint and interesting in your sunbonnet and with the pink rose +pressed to your face. Can't you understand?" + +Phoebe smiled radiantly, her face beaming with happiness. + +"Ach, ain't that simple now of me, Miss Lee?" she said in her +old-fashioned manner. "I was so dumb and thought you was makin' fun of +me, and just for that all summer I was wishin' school would not start +ever. And I was sayin' all the time I ain't goin' to like you. But now I +do like you," she added softly. + +"I am glad we understand each other, Phoebe." + +Miss Lee was genuinely interested in the child, attracted by the +charming personality of the country girl. Of the thirty children of that +school she felt that Phoebe Metz, in spite of her old-fashioned dress +and older-fashioned ways, was the preeminent figure. It would be a +delight to teach a child whose face could light with so much animation. + +"Now, Phoebe," she said, "since we understand each other and have become +friends, gather your books and hurry home. Your mother may be anxious +about you." + +"Not my mother," Phoebe replied soberly. "I ain't got no mom. It's my +Aunt Maria and my pop takes care of me. My mom's dead long a'ready. But +I'm goin' now," she ended brightly before Miss Lee could answer. "And +the road's all down-hill so it won't take me long." + +So she gathered her books and kettle, said good-bye to Miss Lee and +hurried from the schoolhouse. When she was fairly on the road she broke +into her habit of soliloquy: "Ach, if she ain't the nicest lady! So +pretty she is and so kind! She was vonderful kind after what I done. The +teacher we had last year, now, he would 'a' slapped my hands with a +ruler, he was awful for rulers! But she just looked at me and I was so +sorry for bein' bad that I could 'a' cried. And when she touched my +hands--her hands is soft like the milkweed silk we find still in the +fall--I just had to like her. I like her now and I'm goin' to be a good +girl for her and when I grow up I wish I'd be just like her, just +esactly like her." + +David Eby waited until he was certain no harm was coming to Phoebe. He +heard her say, "Now I do like you" and knew that the matter was being +settled satisfactorily. Relieved, yet ashamed of his eavesdropping, he +ran down the road toward his home. + +"That teacher's all right," he thought. "But Jimminy, girls is funny +things!" + +He went on, whistling, but stopped suddenly as he turned a curve in the +road and saw Phares sitting on the grass in the shelter of a clump of +bushes. + +The older boy rose. "David," he said sternly, "you're spoiling Phoebe +Metz with your petting and fooling around her. What for need you pity +her when she gets kept in for being bad? She was bad!" + +"She was not bad!" David defended staunchly. "That Mary Warner makes me +sick. Phoebe's got some sense, anyhow, and she's not bad. There's +nothing bad in her." + +"Um," said Phares tauntingly, "mebbe you like her already and next +you'll want her for your girl. You give her pink roses and you stay to +lick the teacher for her if----" + +But the sentence was never finished. At the first words David's eyes +flashed, his hands doubled into hard fists and, as his cousin paid no +heed to the warning, he struck out suddenly, then partially restraining +his rage, he unclenched his right hand and gave Phares a smarting slap +upon the mouth. + +"I'll learn you," he growled, "to meddle in my business! You mind your +own, d'ye hear?" + +"Why"--Phares knew no words to answer the insult--"why, David," he +stammered, wiping his smarting lips. + +But his silence added fuel to the other's wrath. + +"You butt in too much, that's what!" said David. "It's just like Phoebe +says, you boss too much. I ain't going to take it no more from you." + +"I--now--mebbe I do," admitted Phares. + +At the words David's anger cooled. He laid a hand on the older boy's +arm, as older men might have gripped hands in reconciliation. "Come on, +Phares," he said in natural, friendly tones. "I hadn't ought to hit you. +Let's forget all about it. You and me mustn't fight over Phoebe." + +"That's so," agreed Phares, but both were thoughtful and silent as they +went down the lane. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +THE HEART OF A CHILD + + +PHOEBE'S aspiration to become like her teacher did not lessen as the days +went on. Her profound admiration for Miss Lee developed into intense +devotion, a devotion whose depth she carefully guarded from discovery. + +To her father's interested questioning she answered a mere, "Why, I like +her, for all, pop. She didn't laugh to make fun at me. I think she's +nice." But secretly the little girl thought of her new teacher in the +most extravagant superlatives. Her heart was experiencing its first +"hero" worship; the poetic, imaginative soul of the child was attracted +by the magnetic personality of Miss Lee. The teacher's smiles, +mannerisms, dress, and above all, her English, were objects worthy of +emulation, thought the child. At times Phoebe despaired of ever becoming +like Miss Lee, then again she felt certain she had within her +possibilities to become like the enviable, wonderful Virginia Lee. But +she breathed to none her ambitions and hopes except at night as she +knelt by her high old-fashioned bed and bent her head to say the prayer +Aunt Maria had taught her in babyhood. Then to the prayer, "Now I lay me +down to sleep," she added an original petition, "And please let me get +like my teacher, Miss Lee. Amen." + +"Aunt Maria, church is on the hill Sunday, ain't it?" she asked one day +after several weeks of school. + +"Yes. And I hope it's nice, for we make ready for a lot of company +always when we have church here." + +"Why," the child asked eagerly, "dare I ask Miss Lee to come here for +dinner too that Sunday? Mary Warner's mom had her for dinner last +Sunday." + +"Ach, yes, I don't care. You ask her. Mebbe she ain't been in a plain +church yet and would like to go with us and then come home for dinner +here. You ask her once." + +Phoebe trembled a bit as she invited the teacher to the gray farmhouse. +"Miss Lee--why--we have church here on the hill this Sunday and Aunt +Maria thought perhaps you'd like to come out and go with us and then +come to our house for dinner. We always have a lot of people for +dinner." + +"I'd love to, Phoebe, thank you," answered Miss Lee. + +The plain sects of that community were all novel to her. She was eager +to attend a service in the meeting-house on the hill and especially +eager to meet Phoebe's people and study the unusual child in the +intimate circle of home. + +"Tell your aunt I shall be very glad to go to the service with you," she +said as Phoebe stood speechless with joy. "Will you go?" + +"Ach, yes, I go always," with a surprised widening of the blue eyes. + +"And your aunt, too?" + +"Why be sure, yes! Abody don't stay home from church when it's so near. +That would look like we don't want company. There's church on the hill +only every six weeks and the other Sundays it's at other churches. Then +we drive to those other churches and people what live near ask us to +come to their house for dinner, and we go. Then when it's here on the +hill we must ask people that live far off to come to us for dinner. That +way everybody has a place to go. It makes it nice to go away and to have +company still. We always have a lot when church is here. Aunt Maria +cooks so good." + +She spoke the last words innocently and looked up with an expression of +wonder as she heard Miss Lee laugh gaily--now what was funny? Surely +Miss Lee laughed when there was nothing at all to laugh about! + +"What time does your service begin?" asked the teacher. "What time do +you leave the house?" + +"It takes in at nine o'clock----" + +Miss Lee smothered an ejaculation of surprise. + +"But we leave the house a little after half-past eight. Then we can go +easy up the hill and have time to walk around on the graveyard a little +and get in church early and watch the people come in." + +"I'll stop for you and go with you, Phoebe." + +Sunday morning at the Metz farm was no time for prolonged slumber. With +the first crowing of roosters Aunt Maria rose. After the early breakfast +there were numerous tasks to be performed before the departure for the +meeting-house. There was the milking to be done and the cans of milk +placed in the cool spring-house; the chickens and cattle to be fed; each +room of the big house to be dusted; vegetables to be prepared for a +hasty boiling after the return from the service; preserves and canned +fruits to be brought from the cellar, placed into glass dishes and set +in readiness. + +At eight-fifteen Phoebe was ready. She wore her favorite blue chambray +dress and delighted in the fact that Sunday always brought her the +privilege of wearing her hat. The little sailor hat with its narrow +ribbon and little bow was certainly not the hat she would have chosen if +she might have had that pleasure, but it was the only hat she owned, so +was not to be despised. She felt grateful that Aunt Maria allowed her to +wear a hat. Many little girls, some smaller than she, came to church +every Sunday wearing silk bonnets like their elders!--she felt grateful +for her hat--any hat! + +Tugging at the elastic under her chin, then smoothing her handkerchief +and placing it in her sleeve--she had seen Miss Lee dispose of a +handkerchief in that way--she walked to the little green gate and +watched the road leading from Greenwald. + +Her heart leaped when she saw the teacher come down the long road. She +opened the gate to go to meet her, then suddenly stood still. Miss Lee +as she appeared in the schoolroom, in white linen dress or trim serge +skirt and tailored waist, was attractive enough to cause Phoebe's heart +to flutter with admiration a dozen times a day; but Miss Lee in Sunday +morning church attire was so irresistibly sweet that the vision sent the +little girl's heart pounding and caused a strange shyness to possess +her. The semi-tailored dress of dark blue taffeta, the sheer white +collar, the small black hat with its white wings, the silver coin purse +in the gloved hand--no detail escaped the keen eyes of the child. She +looked down at her cotton dress--it had seemed so pretty just a moment +ago. But, of course, such dresses and gloves and hats were for +grown-ups! "But just you wait," she thought, "when I grow up I'll look +like that, too, see if I don't!" + +Miss Lee, smiling, never knew the depths she stirred in the heart of the +little girl. + +"Am I late, Phoebe?" + +"Ach, no. Just on time. Pop, he went a'ready, though. He goes early +still to open the meeting-house. We'll go right away, as soon as Aunt +Maria locks up. But what for did you bring a pocketbook?" + +"For the offering." + +"Offering?" + +"The church offering, Phoebe. Surely you know what that is if you go to +church every Sunday. Don't you have collection plates or baskets passed +about in your church for everybody to put their offerings on them?" + +"Why, no, we don't have that in our church! What for do they do that in +any church?" + +"To pay the preachers' salaries and----" + +"Goodness," Phoebe laughed, "it would take a vonderful lot to pay all +the preachers that preach at our church. Sometimes three or four preach +at one meeting. They have to work week-days and get their money just +like other men do. Men come around to the house sometimes for money for +the poor, and when the meeting-house needs a new roof or something like +that, everybody helps to pay for it, but we don't take no collections in +church, like you say. That's a funny way----" + +The appearance of Maria Metz prevented further discussion of church +collections. With a large, fringed shawl pinned over her plain gray +dress and a stiff black silk bonnet tied under her chin, she was ready +for church. She was putting the big iron key of the kitchen door into a +deep pocket of her full skirt as she came down the walk. + +"That way, now we're ready," she said affably. "I guess you're Phoebe's +teacher, ain't? I see you go past still." + +"Yes. I am very glad to meet you, Miss Metz. It is very kind of you to +invite me to go with you." + +"Ach, that's nothing. You're welcome enough. We always have much company +when church is on the hill. This is a nice day, so I guess church will +be full. I hope so, anyway, for I got ready for company for dinner. But +how do you like Greenwald?" + +"Very well, indeed. It is beautiful here." + +"Ain't! But I guess it's different from Phildelphy. I was there once, in +the Centennial, and it was so full everywheres. I like the country best. +Can't anything beat this now, can it?" + +They reached the summit of the hill and paused. + +"No," said Miss Lee, "this is hard to beat. I love the view from this +hill." + +"Ain't now"--Aunt Maria smiled in approval--"this here is about the +nicest spot around Greenwald. There's the town so plain you could almost +count the houses, only the trees get in the road. And there's the +reservoir with the white fence around, and the farms and the pretty +country around them--it's a pretty place." + +"I like this hill," said Phoebe. "When I grow up I'm goin' to have a +farm on this hill, when I'm married, I mean." + +"That's too far off yet, Phoebe," said her aunt. "You must eat bread and +butter yet a while before you think of such things." + +"Anyhow, I changed my mind. I'm not goin' to live in the country when I +grow up; I'm going to be a fine lady and live in the city." + +"Phoebe, stop that dumb talk, now!" reproved her aunt sternly. "You turn +round and walk up the hill. We'll go on now, Miss Lee. Mebbe you'd like +to go on the graveyard a little?" + +"I don't mind." + +"Then come." Aunt Maria led the way, past the low brick meeting-house, +through the gateway into the old burial ground. They wandered among the +marble slabs and read the inscriptions, some half obliterated by years +of mountain storms, others freshly carved. + +"The epitaphs are interesting," said Miss Lee. + +"What's them?" asked Phoebe. + +"The verses on the tombstones. Here is one"--she read the inscription +on the base of a narrow gray stone--"'After life's fitful fever she +sleeps well.'" + +"Ach," Aunt Maria said tartly, "I guess her man knowed why he put that +on. That poor woman had three husbands and eleven children, so I guess +she had fitful fever enough." + +Phoebe laughed loud as she saw the smile on the face of her teacher, but +next moment she sobered under the chiding of Aunt Maria. "Phoebe, now +you keep quiet! Abody don't laugh and act so on a graveyard!" + +"Ugh," the child said a moment later, "Miss Lee, just read this one. It +always gives me shivers when I read it still. + + "'Remember, man, as you pass by, + What you are now that once was I. + What I am now that you will be; + Prepare for death and follow me.'" + +"That is rather startling," said Miss Lee. + +Phoebe smiled and asked, "Don't you think this is a pretty graveyard?" + +"Yes. How well cared for the graves are. Not a weed on most of them." + +"Well," Aunt Maria explained, "the people who have dead here mostly take +care of the graves. We come up every two weeks or so and sometimes we +bring a hoe and fix our graves up nice and even. But some people are too +lazy to keep the graves clean. I hoed some pig-ears out a few graves +last week; I was ashamed of 'em, even if the graves didn't belong to +us." + +In the corner near the road the aunt stopped before a plain gray +boulder. + +"Phoebe's mom," she said, pointing to the inscription. + + "_PHOEBE + beloved wife of + Jacob Metz + aged twenty-two years + and one month. + Souls of the righteous + are in the hand of God._" + +"I'm glad," said the child as they stood by her mother's grave, "that +they put that last on, for when I come here still I like to know that my +mom ain't under all this dirt but that she's up in the Good Place like +it says there." + +Miss Lee clasped the little hand in hers--what words were adequate to +express her feeling for the motherless child! + +"Come on," Maria Metz said crisply, "or we'll be late." But Miss Lee +read in the brusqueness a strong feeling of sorrow for the child. + +Silently the three walked through the green aisles of the old graveyard, +Aunt Maria leading the way, alone; Phoebe's hand still in the hand of +her teacher. + +To Miss Lee, whose hours of public worship had hitherto been spent in an +Episcopal church in Philadelphia, the extreme plainness of the +meeting-house on the hill brought a sense of acute wonderment. The +contrast was so marked. There, in the city, was the large, high-vaulted +church whose in-streaming light was softened by exquisite stained +windows and revealed each detail of construction and color harmoniously +consistent. Here, in the country, was the square, low-ceilinged +meeting-house through whose open windows the glaring light relentlessly +intensified the whiteness of the walls and revealed more plainly each +flaw and knot in the unpainted pine benches. Yet the meeting-house on +the hill was strangely, strongly representative of the frank, honest, +unpretentious people who worshipped there, and after the first wave of +surprise a feeling of interest and reverence held her. + +It was a unique sight for the city girl. The rows of white-capped women +were separated from the rows of bearded men by a low partition built +midway down the body of the church. Each sex entered the meeting-house +through a different door and sat in its apportioned half of the +building. On each side of the room rows of black hooks were set into the +walls. On these hooks the sisters hung their bonnets and the shawls and +the brethren placed their hats and overcoats during the service. + +The preachers, varying in number from two to six, sat before a long +table in the front part of the meeting-house. When the duty of preaching +devolved upon one of them he simply rose from his seat and delivered his +message. + +As Aunt Maria and her two followers took their seats on a bench near the +front of the church a preacher rose. + +"Let us join in singing--has any one a choice?" + +Miss Lee started as a woman's voice answered, "Number one hundred +forty-seven." However, her surprise merged into other emotions as the +old hymn rose in the low-ceilinged room. There was no accompaniment of +any musical instrument, just a harmonious blending of the deep-toned +voices of the brethren with the sweet voices of the sisters. The music +swelled in full, deliberate rhythm, its calm earnestness bearing witness +to the fact that every word of the hymn was uttered in a spirit of +worship. + +Maria Metz sang very softly, but Phoebe's young voice rose clearly in +the familiar words, "Jesus, Lover of my soul." + +Miss Lee listened a moment to the sweet voice of the child by her side, +then she, too, joined in the singing--feeling the words, as she had +never before felt them, to be the true expression of millions of mortals +who have sung, are singing, and shall continue to sing them. + +When the hymn was ended another preacher arose and opened the service +with a few remarks, then asked all to kneel in prayer. + +Every one--men, women, children--turned and knelt upon the bare floor +while the preacher's voice rose in a simple prayer. As the Amen fell +from his lips Miss Lee started to rise, but Phoebe laid a restraining +hand upon her and whispered, "There's yet one." + +For a moment there was silence in the meeting-house. Then the voice of +another preacher rose in the universal prayer, "Our Father, which art in +heaven." Every extemporaneous prayer in the Church of the Brethren is +complemented by the model prayer the Master taught His disciples. + +There was another hymn, reading of the Scriptures, and then the sermon +proper was preached. + +Aunt Maria nodded approvingly as the preacher read, "Whose adorning let +it not be that outward adorning of plaiting the hair, and of wearing of +gold, or of putting on of apparel; but let it be the hidden man of the +heart, in that which is not corruptible, even the ornament of a meek and +quiet spirit, which is in the sight of God of great price." + +"You listen good now to what the preacher says," the woman whispered to +Phoebe. + +The child looked Up solemnly at her aunt, about her at the many +white-capped women, then up at Miss Lee's pretty hat with its white +Mercury wings--she was endeavoring to justify the pleasure and beauty +her aunt pronounced vanity. Was Miss Lee really wicked when she wore +clothes like that? Surely, no! After a few moments the child sighed, +folded her hands and looked steadfastly at the tall bearded man who was +preaching. + +The clergy among these plain sects receive no remuneration for their +preaching. With them the mercenary and the pecuniary are ever distinct +from the religious. Six days in the week the preacher follows the plow +or works at some other worthy occupation; upon the seventh day he +preaches the Gospel. There is, therefore, no elaborate preparation for +the sermon; the preacher has abundant faith in the old admonition, "Take +no thought how or what ye shall speak, for it shall be given you in that +same hour what ye shall speak, for it is not ye that speak but the +spirit of the Father that speaketh in you." Thus it is that, while the +sermons usually lack the blandishments of fine rhetoric and the rhythmic +ease arising from oratorical ability, they seldom fail in deep sincerity +and directness of appeal. + +The one who delivered the message that September morning told of the joy +of those who have overcome the desire for the vanities of the world, +extolled the virtue of a simple life, till Miss Lee felt convinced that +there must be something real in a religion that could hold its followers +to so simple, wholesome a life. + +She looked about, at the serried rows of white-capped women--how gentle +and calm they appeared in their white caps and plain dresses; she looked +across the partition at the lines of men--how strong and honest their +faces were; and the children--she had never before seen so many children +at a church service--would they all, in time, wear the garb of their +people and enter the church of their parents? The child at her +side--vivacious, untiring, responsive Phoebe--would she, too, wear the +plain dress some day and live the quiet life of her people? + +The eagerness of the child's face as Miss Lee looked at her denoted +intense interest in the sermon, but none could know the real cause of +that eagerness. + +"I won't, I just won't dress plain!" she was thinking. "Anyway, not till +I'm old like Aunt Maria. I want to look like Miss Lee when I grow up. +And that preacher just said that it ain't good to plait the hair, I mean +he read it out the Bible. Mebbe now Aunt Maria will leave me have +curls. I hope she heard him say that." + +She sighed in relief as the sermon was concluded and the next preacher +rose and added a few remarks. When the third man rose to add his few +remarks Phoebe looked up at Miss Lee and whispered, "Guess he's the last +one once!" + +Miss Lee smiled. The service was rather long, but it was drawing to a +close. There was another prayer, another hymn and the service ended. + +Immediately the white-capped women rose and began to bestow upon each +other the holy kiss; upon the opposite side of the church the brethren +greeted each other in like fashion. Everywhere there were greetings and +profferings of dinner invitations. + +Maria Metz and her brother did not fail in their duty. In a few minutes +they had invited a goodly number to make the gray farmhouse their +stopping-place. Then Aunt Maria hurried home, eager to prepare for her +guests. Soon the Metz barnyard was filled with carriages and automobiles +and the gray house resounded with happy voices. Some of the women helped +Maria in the kitchen, others wandered about in the old-fashioned garden, +where dahlias, sweet alyssum, marigolds, ladies' breastpin and +snapdragons still bloomed in the bright September sunshine. + +Miss Lee, guided by Phoebe, examined every nook of the big garden, +peered into the deserted wren-house and listened to the child's story of +the six baby wrens reared in the box that summer. Finally Phoebe +suggested sitting on a bench half screened by rose-bushes and +honeysuckle. There, in that green spot, Miss Lee tactfully coaxed the +child to unfold her charming personality, all serenely unconscious of +the fact that inside the gray house the white-capped women were +discussing the new teacher as they prepared the dinner. + +"She seems vonderful nice and common," volunteered Aunt Maria. "Not +stuck up, for a Phildelphy lady." + +"Well, why should she be stuck up?" argued one. "Ain't she just Mollie +Stern's cousin? Course, Mollie's nice, but nothing tony." + +"Anyhow, the children all like her," spoke up another woman. "My Enos +learns good this year." + +"I guess she's all right," said another, "but Amande, my sister, says +that she's after her Lizzie all the time for the way she talks. The +teacher tells her all the time not to talk so funny, not to get her t's +and d's and her v's and w's mixed. Goodness knows, them letters is near +enough alike to get them mixed sometimes. I mix them myself. Manda don't +want her Lizzie made high-toned, for then nothing will be good enough +for her any more." + +"Ach, I guess Miss Lee won't do that," said Aunt Maria. "I know I'm glad +the teacher ain't the kind to put on airs. When I heard they put in a +teacher from Phildelphy I was afraid she'd be the kind to teach the +children a lot of dumb notions and that Phoebe would be spoiled---- +Here, Sister Minnich, is the holder for that pan. I guess the ham is +fried enough. Yes, ain't the chicken smells good! I roasted it +yesterday, so it needs just a good heating to-day." + +"Shall I take the sweet potatoes off, Maria?" + +"Yes, they're brown enough, and the coffee's about done, and plenty of +it, too." + +"And it smells good, too," chorused several women. + +"It's just twenty-eight cent coffee; I get it in Greenwald. I guess the +things can be put out now. Call the men, Susan." + +In quick order the long table in the dining-room--used only upon +occasions like this--was filled with smoking, savory dishes, the men +called from the porches and yard and everybody, except the two women who +helped Aunt Maria to serve, seated about the board. All heads were bowed +while one of the brethren said a long grace and then the feast began. + +True to the standards set by the majority of the Pennsylvania Dutch, the +meal was fit for the finest. There was no attempt to serve it according +to the rules of the latest book of etiquette. All the food was placed +upon the table and each one helped herself and himself and passed the +dish to the nearest neighbor. Occasionally the services of the three +women were required to bring in water, bread or coffee, or to replenish +the dishes and platters. Everybody was in good humor, especially when +one of the brethren suddenly found himself with a platter of chicken in +one hand and a pitcher of gravy in the other. + +"Hold on, here!" he said laughingly, "it's coming both ways. I can't +manage it." + +"Now, Isaac," chided one of the women, "you went and started the gravy +the wrong way around. And here, Elam, start that apple-butter round +once. Maria always has such good apple-butter." + +Miss Lee's ready adaptability proved a valuable asset that day. +Everybody was so cordial and friendly that, although she was the only +woman without the white cap, there was no shadow of any holier-than-thou +spirit. She was accepted as a friend; as a lady from Philadelphia she +became invested with a charm and interest which the frank country people +did not try to conceal. They spoke freely to her of her work in the +school, inquired about the children and listened with interest as she +answered their questions about her home city. + +When the dinner was ended heads were bowed again and thanks rendered to +God for the blessings received. Then the men went outdoors, where the +beehives, poultry houses, barns and orchards of the farm afforded +several hours of inspection and discussion. + +Indoors some of the women began to wash dishes while Aunt Maria and her +helpers ate their belated dinner; others went to the sitting-room and +entertained themselves by rocking and talking or looking at the pictures +in the big red plush album which lay upon a small table. + +Later, when everything was once more in order in the big kitchen, Maria +stood in the doorway of the sitting-room. + +"Now," she said, "I guess we better go up-stairs and see the rugs before +the men come in. Susan said she wants to see my new rugs once when she +comes. So come on, everybody that wants to." + +"You come," Phoebe invited Miss Lee. "I'll show you some of the things +in my chest." + +Maria led the way to the spare-room on the second floor, a large square +room furnished in old-fashioned country style: a rag carpet, rag rugs, +heavy black walnut bureau and wash-stand, the latter with an antique +bowl and pitcher of pink and white, and a splasher of white linen +outlined in turkey red cotton. A framed cross-stitch sampler hung on the +wall; four cane-seated chairs and a great wooden chest completed the +furnishing of the room. + +The chest became the centre of attraction as Aunt Maria opened it and +began to show the hooked rugs she had made. + +Phoebe waited until her teacher had seen and admired several, then she +tugged at the silk sleeve ever so gently and whispered, "D'ye want to +see some of the things I made?" + +Miss Lee smiled and nodded and the two stole away to the child's room. + +Phoebe closed the door. + +"This is my room and this is my Hope Chest," she said proudly. + +Among many of the Pennsylvania Dutch the Hope Chest has long been +considered an important part of a girl's belongings. During her early +childhood a large chest is secured and the stocking of it becomes a +pleasant duty. Into it are laid the girl's discarded infant clothes; +patchwork quilts and comfortables pieced by herself or by some fond +grandmother or mother or aunt; homespun sheets and towels that have been +handed down from other generations; ginghams, linens and minor household +articles that might be useful in her own home. When the girl leaves the +old nest for one of her own building the Hope Chest goes with her as a +valuable portion of her dowry. + +"Hope Chest," echoed Miss Lee. "Do you have a Hope Chest?" + +"Ach, yes, long already! Aunt Maria says it's for when I grow up and get +married and live in my own home, but I--why, I don't know at all yet if +I want to get married. When I say that to her she says still that I can +be glad I have the chest anyhow, for old maids need covers and aprons +and things too." + +"You dear child," Miss Lee said, laughing, "you do say the funniest +things!" + +"But"--Phoebe raised her flushed face--"you ain't laughing at me to make +fun?" + +"Oh, Phoebe, I love you too much for that. It's just that you are +different." + +"Ach, but I'm glad! And that's why I want to show you my things." + +She opened the lid of her chest and brought out a quilt, then another, +and another. + +"This is all mine. And I finished another one this summer that Aunt +Maria is going to quilt this fall yet. Then I'll have nine already. +Ain't--isn't that a lot?" + +"Yes, indeed," laughed the teacher. "Just nine more than I have." + +"Why"--Phoebe stared in surprise--"don't you have quilts in your Hope +Chest?" + +"I haven't even the Hope Chest." + +"No Hope Chest! Now, that's funny! I thought every girl that could have +a chest for the money had a Hope Chest!" + +"I never heard of a Hope Chest before I came to Greenwald." + +"Now don't it beat all!" The child was very serious. "We ain't at all +like other people, I believe. I wonder why we are so different from you +people. Oh, I know we talk different from you, and mostly look different +from you and I guess we do things a lot different from you--do you +think, Miss Lee, oh, do you think that I could _ever_ get like you?" + +"Yes----" Miss Lee showed hesitancy. + +"For sure?" Phoebe asked, quick to note the slight delay in the answer. + +"Yes, I am sure you could, dear. You can learn to dress, speak and act +as people do in the great cities--but are you sure that you want to do +so?" + +"Want to! Why, I want to so bad that it hurts! I don't want to just go +to country school and Greenwald High School and then live on a farm all +the rest of my life and never get anywhere but to the store in +Greenwald, to Lancaster several times a year, and to church every +Sunday. I want to do some things other people in the other parts of the +country do, that's what I want. I'd like best of all to be a great +singer and to look and dress and talk like you. I can sing good, pop +says I can." + +"I have noticed you have a sweet voice." + +"Ain't!" The child's voice rang with gladness. "I'm so glad I have. And +David, he's glad too, for he says that he thinks it's a gift from God to +have a voice that can sing as nice as the birds. David and Phares are +just like my brothers. David's mom is awful nice. I like her"--she +whispered--"I like her almost better than my Aunt Maria because she's +so--ach, you know what I mean! She's so much like my own mom would be. I +like David better than Phares, too, because Phares bosses me too much +and he is wonderful strict and thinks everything is bad or foolish. He +preaches a lot. He says it's bad to be a big singer and sing for the +people and get money for it, in oprays, he means--is it?" + +Miss Lee was startled by the ambition of the child before her and amazed +at the determination revealed in her young pupil. Before she could +answer wisely Phoebe went on: + +"Now David says still I could be a big opray singer some day mebbe, and +_he_ don't think it's bad. I think still that singin' is about like +havin' curls--if God don't want you to use your singin' and your curls +what did He give 'em to you for?" + +Much to the teacher's relief she was spared the difficulty of answering +the child. The aunt was bringing the visitors to Phoebe's room. + +"Come in and see my things," Phoebe invited cordially, as though curls +and operatic careers had never troubled her. In the excitement of +displaying her quilts she apparently forgot the vital problems she had +so lately discussed. But Miss Lee made a mental comment as she stood +apart and watched the child among the white-capped women, "That little +girl will do things before she settles into the simple, monotonous life +these women lead." + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +THE PRIMA DONNA OF THE ATTIC + + +"AUNT MARIA, dare I go without sewing just this one Saturday?" + +It was Saturday afternoon in early October. All the week-end work of the +farmhouse was done: the walks and porches scrubbed, the entire house +cleaned, the shelves in the cellar filled with pies and cakes. Maria +Metz stood by the wooden frame in which she had sewed Phoebe's latest +quilt and chalked lines and half-moons upon the calico, preliminary to +the actual work of quilting. + +Phoebe's face was eloquent as her aunt turned and looked down. + +"Why?" asked the woman calmly. + +"Ach, because it's my birthday, eleven I am to-day. And pop's going to +bring me new hair-ribbons from Greenwald, pretty blue ones, I asked him +to bring, and nice and wide"--she opened her hands in imaginary +picturing of the width of the new ribbons--"but most of all," she +hastened to add as she saw an expression of displeasure on her aunt's +face, "I'd like to have a party all to myself. I thought that so long as +you're going to have women in to help you quilt, and that is like a +party, only you don't call it so, why I could have a party for me alone. +I'd like to play all afternoon instead of sewing first like I do still. +Dare I, I mean may I?"--in conscientious endeavor to speak as Miss Lee +was trying to teach her. + +Maria Metz smiled at the little girl's idea of a party, and after a +moment's hesitation replied, "Ach, yes well, Phoebe, I don't care." + +"In the garret, oh, dare I go in the garret and play?" she asked +excitedly. + +"Yes, I guess. If you put everything away nice when you are done +playin'." + +"I will." + +She started off gleefully. + +"And be careful of the steps. I'm always afraid you'll fall down when +you go up there, the steps are so narrow." + +"Ach, I won't fall. I'll be careful. I'll play a while and then shall I +help to quilt?" she offered magnanimously in return for the privilege of +playing in the garret. + +"No, I don't need you. But you can quilt nice, too. The last time you +took littler stitches than Lizzie from the Home, but she don't see so +good. But you needn't help to-day, for so many can't get round the frame +good. Phares's mom and David's mom and Lyddy and Granny Hogendobler and +Susan are comin', and that's enough for one quilt. You go play." + +In a moment Phoebe was off, up the broad stairs to the second floor. +There she paused for breath--"Oh, it's like going to a castle somewhere +in a strange country, goin' to the garret! I'm always a little scared at +first, goin' to the garret." + +With a laugh she turned into a small room, opened a latched door, closed +it securely behind her, and stood upon the lower step of the attic +stairs. She looked about a moment. Above her were the stained rafters of +the attic, where a dim light invested it with a strange, half fearful +interest. + +"Ach, now, don't be a baby," she admonished herself. "Go right up the +stairs. You're a queen--no, I know!--You're a primer donner going up the +platform steps to sing!" + +With that helpful delusion she started bravely up the stairs and never +paused until she reached the top step. She ran to a small window and +threw it wide open so that the October sunshine could stream in and make +the place less ghostly. + +"Now it's fine up here," she cried. "And I dare--I may--talk to myself +all I want. Aunt Maria says it's simple to talk to yourself, but +goodness, when abody has no other boys or girls to talk to half the time +like I don't, what else can abody do but talk to your own self? Anyhow, +I'm up here now and dare talk out loud all I want. I'll hunt first for +robbers." + +She ran about the big attic, peered behind every old trunk and box, even +inside an old yellow cupboard, though she knew it was filled with old +school-books and older hymn-books. + +"Not a robber here, less he's back under the eaves." + +She crept into the low nook under the slanting roof but found nothing +more exciting than a spider. "Huh, it's no fun hunting for robbers. +Guess I'll spin a while." + +With quick variability she drew a low stool near an old spinning-wheel, +placed her foot on the slender treadle and twisted the golden flax in +imitation of the way Aunt Maria had once taught her. + +"I'll weave a new dress for myself--oh, goody!" she cried, springing +from the stool. "Now I know what I'll do! I'll dress up in the old +clothes in that old trunk! That'll be the very best party I can have." + +She skipped to a far corner of the attic, where a long, leather-covered +trunk stood among some boxes. In a moment the clasps were unfastened, +the lid raised, a protecting cloth lifted from the top and the contents +of the trunk exposed. + +The child, kneeling before the trunk, clasped her hands and uttered an +ecstatic, "Oh, I'll be a primer donner now! I remember there used to be +a wonderful fine dress in here somewhere." + +With childish feverishness, yet with tenderness and reverence for the +relics of a long dead past, she lifted the old garments from the trunk. + +"The baby clothes my mom wore--my mother, Miss Lee always says, and I +like that name better, too. My, but they're little! Such tweeny, weeny +sleeves! I wonder how a baby ever got into anything so tiny. I bet she +was cunning--Miss Lee says babies are cunning. And here's the dress and +cap and a pair of white woolen stockings I wore. Aunt Maria told me so +the last time we cleaned house and I helped to carry all these things +down-stairs and hang them out in the air so they don't spoil here in the +trunk all locked up tight. I wish I could see how I looked when I wore +these things. I wonder if I was a nice baby--but, ach, all babies are +nice. I could squeeze every one I see, only when they're not clean I'd +want to wash 'em first. And here's my mom--mother's wedding dress, a +gray silk one. Ain't it too bad, now, it's going in holes! And this +satin jacket Aunt Maria said my grandpap wore at his wedding; it has a +silver buckle at the neck in front. And next comes the dress I like. It +was my mother's mother's, and it's awful old. But I think it's fine, +with the little pink rosebuds and the lace shawl round the neck and the +long skirt. That's the dress I must wear now to play I'm a primer +donner." + +She held out the old-fashioned pink-sprigged muslin, yellowed with age, +yet possessing the charm of old, well-preserved garments. The short, +puffed sleeves, lace fichu and full, puffed skirt proclaimed it of a +bygone generation. + +"It's pretty," the child exulted as she shook out the soft folds. "Guess +I can slip it on over my other dress, it's plenty big. It must button in +the front, for that's the way the lace shawl goes. Um--it's long"--she +looked down as she fastened the last little button. "Oh, I know! I'll +tuck it up in the front and leave the long back for a trail! How's that, +I wonder." + +She unearthed an old mirror, hung it on a nail in the wall and surveyed +herself in the glass. + +"Um, I don't look so bad--but my hair ain't right. I don't know how +primer donners wear their hair, but I know they don't wear it in two +plaits like mine." + +She pulled the narrow brown ribbons from her braids, opened the braids +and shook her head vigorously until her curls tumbled about her head and +over her shoulders. Then she knotted the two ribbons together and bound +them across her hair in a fillet, tying them in a bow under her flowing +curls. + +"Now, I guess it's as good as I can fix it. I wish Miss Lee could see me +now. I wish most of all my mom--mother could see me. Mebbe she'd say, +'Precious child,' like they say in stories, and then I'd say back, +'Mother dear, mother dear'"--she lingered over the words--"'Mother +dear.' But mebbe she is saying that to me right now, seeing it's my +birthday. I'll make believe so, anyhow." + +She was silent for a moment, a puzzled expression on her face. + +"I just don't see," she spoke aloud suddenly, "I don't see why I +shouldn't make believe I have a mother, just adopt one like people do +children sometimes. Aunt Maria says it's a risk to adopt some one's +child, but I don't see that it would be a risk to adopt a mother. Let me +see now--of all the women I know, who do I want to adopt? Not Mary +Warner's mom--she's stylish and wears nice dresses, but I don't think +I'd like her to keep. Not Granny Hogendobler, though she's nice and I +like her a lot, a whole lot, and I wish her Nason would come back, but I +don't see how I could take her for my mother; she's too old and she +don't wear a white cap and my mother did, so I must take one that does. +I don't want Phares's mom, either. Now, David's mom I like--yes, I like +her. Most everybody calls her Aunty Bab and I'm just goin' to ask her +if I dare call her Mother Bab! Mother Bab--I like that vonderful much! +And I like her. When we go over to her house she's so nice and talks to +me kind and the last time I was there she kissed me and said what pretty +hair I got. Yes, I want David's mom for mine. I guess he won't care. He +always gives me apples and chestnuts and things and he shows me birds' +nests and I think he'll leave me have his mom, so long as he can have +her too. I'll ask him once when I see him. I wonder who's goin' on the +road to Greenwald." + +She gathered up her long skirt and stepped grandly across the bare floor +of the attic. As she stood by the window a boyish whistle floated up to +her. She leaned over the narrow sill and peered through the evergreen +trees at the road. + +"That's David now, I bet! Sounds like his whistle. Oo-oo, David," she +called as the boy came swinging down the road. + +"Hello, Phoebe. Where you at?" + +He turned in at the gate and looked around. + +"Whew," he whistled as he glanced up and saw her at the little window of +the attic. "What you doing up there?" + +"Playin' primer donner. I just look something grand. Wait, I'll come +down." + +"Sure, come on down and let me see you. I'm going to hang around a +while. Mom's here quilting, ain't she?" + +"Sh!" Phoebe raised a warning finger, then placed her hands to her mouth +to shut the sound of her voice from the people in the gray house. "You +sneak round to the kitchen door, to the back one, so they can't hear +you, and I'll come down. Aunt Maria mightn't like my hair and dress, and +I don't want to make her cross on my birthday. Be careful, don't make no +noise." + +"Ha," laughed the boy. "Bet you're sneaking things, you little rascal." + +Phoebe lifted her finger, shook her head, then smiled and turned from +the window. She tiptoed down the dark attic stairs, then down the narrow +back stairs to the kitchen and slipped quietly to the little porch at +the very rear of the house. + +"Gee whiz!" exclaimed David. "You're a swell in that dress!" + +"Ain't I--I mean am I--ach, David, it's hard sometimes to talk like Miss +Lee says we should." + +"Where'd you get the dress, Phoebe?" + +"Up in the garret. Aunt Maria said I dare go up and play 'cause it's my +birthday." + +"Hold on, that's just what I came for, to pull your ears." + +"No you don't," she said crossly. "No you don't, David Eby, pull my +ears." She clapped a hand upon each ear. + +"Then I'll pull a curl," he said and suited the action to the word. He +took one of the long light curls and pulled it gently, yet with a +brusque show of savagery and strength--"One, two, three, four, five, +six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, and one to make you grow. Now who +says I can't celebrate your birthday!" + +"You're mean, awful mean, David Eby!" She tossed her head in anger. But +a moment later she relented as she saw him smile. "Ach," she said in +friendly tone, "I don't care if you pull my curls. It didn't hurt +anyhow. You can't do it again for a whole year. But don't you think I +look like a primer donner, David?" + +"Oh, say it right! How can you expect to ever be what you can't +pronounce? It's pri-ma-don-na." + +"Pri-ma-don-na," she repeated, shaking her curls at every syllable. "Do +I look like a prima donna?" + +"Yes, all but your face." + +"My face--why"--she faltered--"what's wrong with my face? Ain't it +pretty enough to be a prima donna?" + +"Funny kid," he laughed. "Your face is good enough for a prima donna, +but to be a real prima donna you must fix it up with cold cream, paint +and powder." + +"Powder!" she echoed in amazement. "Not the kind you put in guns?" + +"Gee, no! It's white stuff--looks like flour; mebbe it is flour fixed up +with perfume. Mary Warner had some at school last week and showed some +of the girls at recess how to put it on. I was behind a tree and saw +them but they didn't see me." + +"I thought some of the girls looked pale--so that was what made them +look so white! But how do you know all about fixing up to be a prima +donna? Where did you learn?" She looked at him admiringly, justly +appreciating his superior knowledge. + +"Oh, when I had the mumps last winter I used to read the papers every +day, clean through. There was a column called the 'Hints to Beauty' +column, and sometimes I read it just for fun, it was so funny. It told +about fixing up the face and mentioned a famous singer and some other +people who always looked beautiful because they knew how to fix their +faces to keep looking young. But I wouldn't like to see any one I like +fix their faces like it said, for all that stuff----" + +"But do you think all prima donnas put such things on their faces?" she +interrupted him. + +"Guess so." + +"What was it, Davie?" + +"Cold cream, paint, powder--here, where are you going?" he asked as she +started for the door. + +"I'll be out in a minute; you wait here for me." + +"Cold cream, paint, powder," she repeated as she closed the door and +left David outside. "Cream's all in the cellar." She took a pewter +tablespoon from a drawer, opened a latched door in the kitchen and went +noiselessly down the steps to the cellar. There she lifted the lid from +a large earthen jar, dipped a spoonful of thick cream from the jar, and +began to rub it on her cheeks. + +"That's _cold_ cream, anyhow," she said to herself. "It certainly is +cold. Ach, I don't like the feel of it on my face; it's too sticky and +wet." But she rubbed valiantly until the spoonful was used and her face +glowed. + +"Now paint, red paint--I don't dare use the kind you put on houses, for +that's too hard to get off; let's see--I guess red-beet juice will do." + +She stooped to the cool, earthen floor, lifted the cover from a crock of +pickled beets, dipped the spoon into the juice and began to rub the +colored liquid upon her glowing cheeks. + +"If I only had a looking-glass, then I could see just where to put it +on. But I don't dare to carry the juice up the steps, for if I spilled +some just after Aunt Maria has them scrubbed for Sunday she'd be cross." + +She applied the red juice by guesswork, with the inevitable result that +her ears, chin, and nose were stained as deeply as her cheeks. + +"Now the powder, then I'm through." + +She tiptoed up to the kitchen again, took a handful of flour from the +bin and rubbed it upon her face. + +"Ugh, um," she sputtered, as some of the flour flew into her eyes and +nostrils. "I guess that was too thick!" Then she knelt on a chair and +looked into the small mirror that hung in the kitchen. She exclaimed in +horror and disappointment at the vision that met her gaze. + +"Why, I don't like that! I look awful! I'll rub off some of the flour. I +have blotches all over my face. Do all prima donnas look this way, I +wonder. But David knows, I guess. I'll ask him if I did it right." + +She grabbed one end of the kitchen towel and disposed of some of the +superfluous flour, then, still doubtful of her appearance, opened the +door to the porch where the boy waited for her. + +"Do I look----" she began, but David burst into hilarious laughter. + +"Oh, oh," he held his sides and laughed. "Oh, your face----" + +"Don't you laugh at me, David Eby! Don't you dare laugh!" + +She was deeply hurt at his unseemly behavior, but the deluge was only +beginning! The sound of David's laughter and Phoebe's raised voice +reached the front room where the quilting party was in progress. + +"Sounds like somebody on the back porch," said Aunt Maria. "Guess I +better go and see. With so many tramps around always abody can't be too +careful." + +The sight that met Maria Metz's eyes as she opened the back door left +her speechless. Phoebe turned and the two looked at each other in +silence for a few long moments. + +"Don't scold her," David said, sobered by the sudden appearance of the +woman and frightened for Phoebe--Aunt Maria could be stern, he knew. +"Don't scold her. I told her to do it." + +"You did not, David; don't you tell lies for me! You just told me how to +do it and I went and done it myself. I'm playing prima donna, Aunt +Maria," she explained, though she knew it was a futile attempt at +justification. "I'm playing I'm a big singer, so I had to fix up in this +dress and put my hair down this way and fix my face." + +"Great singer--march in here!" The woman had fully regained her voice. +"It's a bad girl you are! To think of your making such a monkey of +yourself when I leave you go up in the garret to play! This ends playing +in the garret. Next Saturday you sew! Ach, yes, you just come in," she +commanded, for Phoebe hung back as they entered the house. "You come +right in here and let all the women see how nice you play when I leave +you go up in the garret instead of make you sew. This here's the tramp I +found," she announced as she led her into the room where the women sat +around the quilting frame and quilted. + +"What!" several of them exclaimed as they turned from their sewing and +looked at the child. Granny Hogendobler and David Eby's mother, however, +smiled. + +"What's on your face?" asked one woman sternly. + +Phoebe hung her head, abashed. + +"That's how nice she plays when I leave her go up on the garret and have +a nice time instead of making her sew like she always has to Saturdays," +Aunt Maria said in sharp tones which told the child all too plainly of +the displeasure she had caused. + +"I didn't mean," Phoebe looked up contritely, "I didn't mean to be bad +and make you cross. I was just playing I was a big singer and I put cold +cream and paint and powder on my face----" + +"Cream!" + +"Paint!" + +"Powder!" + +The shrill staccato words of the women set the child trembling. + +"But--but," she faltered, "it'll all wash off." She gave a convincing +nod of her head and rubbed a hand ruefully across the grotesquely +decorated cheek. "It's just cream and red-beet juice and flour." + +"Did I ever!" exclaimed the mother of Phares Eby. + +"I-to-goodness!" laughed Granny Hogendobler. + +"Vanity, vanity, all is vanity," quoted one of the other women. + +"Come here, Phoebe," said the mother of David Eby, and that woman, a +thin, alert little person with tender, kindly eyes, drew the unhappy +little girl to her. "You poor, precious child," she said, "it's a shame +for us all to sit here and look at you as if we wanted to eat you. +You've just been playing, haven't you?" She turned to the other women. +"Why, Maria, Susan, I remember just as well as if it were only yesterday +how we used to rub our cheeks with rough mullein leaves to make them red +for Love Feast, don't you remember?" + +Aunt Maria's cheeks grew pink. "Ach, Barbara, mebbe we did that when we +were young and foolish, but we didn't act like this." + +"Not much different, I guess," said Phoebe's champion with a smile. +"Only we forget it now. Phoebe is just like we were once and she'll get +over it like we did. Let her play; she'll soon be too old to want to +play or to know how. She ain't a bad child, just full of life and likes +to do things other people don't think of doing." + +"She, surely does," said Aunt Maria curtly, ill pleased by the woman's +words. "Where that child gets all her notions from I'd like to know. +It's something new every day." + +"She'll be all right when she gets older," said David's mother. + +"Be sure, yes," agreed Granny Hogendobler; "it don't do to be too +strict." + +"Mebbe so," said the other women, with various shades of understanding +in their words. + +Phoebe looked gratefully into the face of Granny Hogendobler, then she +turned to David's mother and spoke to her as though there were no others +present in the room. + +"You know, don't you, how little girls like to play? You called me +precious child just like she would----" + +"She would," repeated Aunt Maria. "What do you mean?" + +"I mean my mother," she explained and turned again to her champion. "I +was just thinking this after on the garret that I'd like you for my +mother, to adopt you for it like people do with children when they have +none and want some. I hear lots of people call you Aunty Bab--dare I +call you Mother Bab?" + +The woman laid a hand on the child's tumbled hair. Her voice trembled as +she answered, "Yes, Phoebe, you can call me Mother Bab. I have no little +girl so you may fill that place. Now ask Aunt Maria if you should wash +your face and get fixed right again." + +"Shall I, Aunt Maria?" + +"Yes. Go get cleaned up. Fold all them clothes right and put 'em in the +trunk and put your hair in two plaits again. If you're big enough to do +such dumb things you're big enough to comb your hair." And Aunt Maria, +peeved and hurt at the child's behavior, went back to her quilting while +Phoebe hurried from the room alone. + +The child scrubbed the three layers of decoration from her face, trudged +up the stairs to the attic, took off the rose-sprigged gown and folded +it away--a disconsolate, disillusioned prima donna. + +When the attic was once more restored to its orderliness she closed the +window and went down-stairs to wrestle with her curls. They were +tangled, but ordinarily she would have been able to braid them into some +semblance of neatness, but the trying experience of the past moments, +the joy of gaining an adopted mother, set her fingers bungling. + +"Ach, I can't, I just can't make two braids!" she said at length, ready +to burst into tears. + +Then she remembered David. "Mebbe he's on the porch yet. I'll go see +once." + +With the narrow brown ribbons streaming from her hand and a hair-brush +tucked under one arm she ran down the stairs. She found David, for once +a gloomy figure, on the back porch, just where she had left him. + +"David," she said softly, "will you help me?" + +"Why"--his face brightened as he looked at her--"you ain't"--he started +to say "crying"--"you ain't mad at me for getting you into trouble with +Aunt Maria?" + +"Ach, no. And I ain't never going to be mad at you now for I just +adopted your mom for my mom--mother. She's going to be my Mother Bab; +she said so." + +"What?" + +He knitted his forehead in a puzzled frown. Phoebe explained how kind +his mother had been, how she understood what little girls like to do, +how she had promised to be Mother Bab. + +"You don't care, Davie, you ain't jealous?" she ended anxiously. + +"Sure not," he assured her; "I think it's kinda nice, for she thinks +you're a dandy. But did they haul you over the coals in there?" + +"Yes, a little, all but Granny Hogendobler and your mom--Mother Bab, I +mean. Isn't it funny to get a mother when you didn't have one for so +long?" + +"Guess so." + +"But, David, will you help me? I can't fix my hair and Aunt Maria is so +mad at me she said I can just fix it myself. The plaits won't come right +at all. Will you help me, please?" She asserted her femininity by adding +new sweetness to her voice as she asked the uncommon favor. + +"Why"--he hesitated, then looked about to see if any one were near to +witness what he was about to do--"I don't know if I can. I never braided +hair, but I guess I can." + +"Be sure you can, David. You braid it just like we braid the daisy stems +and the dandelion stems in the fields. You're so handy with them, you +can do most anything, I guess." + +Spurred by her appreciation of his ability he took the brush and began +to brush the tangled hair as she sat on the porch at his feet. + +"Gee," he exclaimed as the hair sprang into curls when the brush left +it, "your hair's just like gold!" + +"And it's curly," she added proudly. + +"Sure is. Wouldn't Phares look if he saw it! I told him your hair is +prettier than Mary Warner's and he said I was silly to talk about girls' +hair." + +"I don't want him to see it this way," she said, "for he'd say it's a +sin to have curly, pretty hair, even if God made it grow that way! He's +awful queer! I wouldn't want him for my adopted brother." + +"Guess he'd keep you hopping," laughed David. + +"Guess I'd keep him hopping, too," retorted Phoebe, at which the boy +laughed. + +"Now what do I do?" he asked when all the hair was untangled. + +"Part it in the middle and make two plaits." + +"Um-uh." + +The boy's clumsy fingers fumbled long with the parting; several times +the braids twisted and had to be undone, but after a struggle he was +able to announce, "There now, you're fixed! Now you're Phoebe Metz, no +more prima donna!" + +"Thanks, David, for helping me. I feel much better around the +head--guess curls would be a nuisance after all." + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +"WHERE THE BROOK AND RIVER MEET" + + +WHEN Phoebe adopted Mother Bab she did so with the whole-heartedness and +finality characteristic of her blood. + +Mother Bab--the name never ceased to thrill the erstwhile motherless +girl whose yearning for affection and understanding had been unsatisfied +by the matter-of-fact Aunt Maria. + +At first Maria Metz did not seem too well pleased with the child's +persistent naming of Barbara Eby as Mother Bab; but gradually, as she +saw Phoebe's joy in the adoption, the woman acknowledged to herself that +another woman was capable of mothering where she had failed. + +Phoebe spent many hours in the little house on the hill, learning from +Mother Bab many things that made indelible impressions upon her +sensitive child-heart, unraveling some of the tangled knots of her soul, +stirring anew hopes and aspirations of her being. But there remained one +knot to be untangled--she could not understand why the plain dress and +white cap existed, she could not reconcile the utter simplicity of dress +with the lavish beauty of the birds, flowers--all nature. + +"It will come," Mother Bab assured her one day. "You are a little girl +now and cannot see into everything. But when you are older you will see +how beautiful it is to live simply and plainly." + +"But is it necessary, Mother Bab?" the child cried out. "Must I dress +like you and Aunt Maria if I want to be good?" + +"No, you don't _have_ to. Many people are good without wearing the plain +garb. A great many people in the world never heard of the plain sects we +have in this section of the country, and there are good people +everywhere, I'm sure of that. But it is just as true that each person +must find the best way to lead a good life. If you can wear fine clothes +and still be good and lead a Christian life, then there is no harm in +the pretty clothes. But for me the easiest way to be living right is to +live as simply as I can. This is the way for me." + +"I'm afraid it's the way for me, too," confessed Phoebe. "I'm vain, +awfully vain! I love pretty clothes and I'll never be satisfied till I +get 'em--silk dresses, soft, shiny satin ones--ach, I guess I'm vain but +I'll have to wait to satisfy my vanity till I'm older, for Aunt Maria is +so set against fancy clothes." + +It was true, Maria Metz compromised on some matters as Phoebe grew +older, but on the question of clothes the older woman was adamant. The +child should have comfortable dresses but there would positively be no +useless ornaments or adornments, such as wide sashes, abundance of +laces, elaborately trimmed ruffles. Fancy hats, jewelry and unconfined +curls were also strictly forbidden. + +Though Phoebe, even as she grew older, had much time to spend outdoors, +there were many tasks about the house and farm she had to perform. The +chest was soon filled with quilts and that bugbear was gone from her +life. But there was continual scrubbing, baking, mending, and other +household tasks to be done, so that much practice caused the girl to +develop into a capable little housekeeper. Aunt Maria frankly admitted +that Phoebe worked cheerfully and well, a matter she found consoling in +the trying hours when Phoebe "wasted time" by playing the low walnut +organ in the sitting-room. + +During Miss Lee's first term of teaching on the hill she taught her how +to play simple exercises and songs and the child, musically inclined, +made the most of the meagre knowledge and adeptly improved until she was +able to play the hymns in the Gospel Hymn Book and the songs and carols +in the old Music Book that had belonged to her mother and always rested +on the top of the old low organ. + +So the organ became a great solace and joy, an outlet for the intense +feelings of desire and hope in her heart. When her voice joined with the +sweet tones of the old instrument it seemed to Phoebe as if she were +echoing the harmony of the eternal music of all creation. Child though +she was, she sang with the joy and sincerity of the true musician. She +merely smiled when Aunt Maria characterized her best efforts as +"doodling" and rejoiced when her father, Mother Bab or David praised her +singing. + +In school she progressed rapidly but her interest lagged when, after +two years of teaching, Miss Lee resigned her position as teacher of the +school on the hill and a new teacher took command. The entire school +missed the teacher from Philadelphia, but Phoebe was almost +inconsolable. She, especially, appreciated the gain of contact with the +teacher she loved and she continued to profit by the remembrance of many +things Miss Lee had taught her. The Memory Gems, alone, bore evidence of +the change the teacher from the city had wrought in the rural school. +Phoebe smiled as she thought how the poems had been sing-songed until +Miss Lee taught the children to bring out the meaning of the words. + +"Oh, my," she laughed one day as she and David were speaking of school +happenings, "do you remember how John Schneider used to say Memory Gems? +The day he got up and said, 'Have-you-heard-the-waters-singing-little-May +--where-the-willows-green-are-bending-over-the-way--do-you-know-how-low- +and-sweet-are-the-words-the-waves-repeat--to-the-pebbles-at-their-feet-- +night-and-day?'" + +David laughed at the girl's droll imitation, the way she sing-songed the +verse in the exact manner prevalent in many rural schools. + +"And do you remember," he asked, "the day Isaac Hunchberger defined +bipeds?" + +"Oh, yes! I'll never forget that! It was the day the County +Superintendent of Schools came to visit our school and Miss Lee was +anxious to have us show off. Isaac showed off, all right, with his +'Bipets are sings vis two lex!' I guess Miss Lee decided that day that +the Pennsylvania Dutch is ingrained in our English and hard to get out." + +To Phoebe each Memory Gem of her school days became, in truth, a gem +stored away for future years. Long after she had outgrown the little +rural school scraps of poetry returned to her to rewaken the enthusiasm +of childhood and to teach her again to "hear the lark within the +songless egg and find the fountain where they wailed, 'Mirage!'" + +Phoebe wanted so many things in those school-day years but she wanted +most of all to become like Miss Lee. So earnestly did she try to speak +as her teacher taught her that after a time the peculiar idioms and +expressions became more infrequent and there was only a delightfully +quaint inflection, an occasional phrase, to betray her Pennsylvania +Dutch parentage. But in times of stress or excitement she invariably +slipped back into the old way and prefaced her exclamations with an +expressive "Ach!" + +Life on the Metz farm went on in even tenor year in and year out. Maria +Metz never changed to any appreciable extent her mode of living or her +methods of working, and she tried to teach Phoebe to conform to the same +monotonous existence and live as several generations of Metzes had done. +But Phoebe was a veritable Evelyn Hope, made of "spirit, fire and dew." +The distinctiveness of her personality grew more pronounced as she +slipped from childhood into girlhood and Maria Metz needed often to +encourage her own heart for the task of rearing into ideal womanhood the +daughter of her brother Jacob. + +Phoebe had a deep love for nature and this love was fostered by her +sturdy farmer-father. As she followed him about the fields he taught her +the names of wild flowers, told her the nesting haunts of birds, +initiated her into the circle of tree-lore, taught her to keep ears, +eyes and heart open for the treasures of the great outdoors. + +Phoebe required no urging in that direction. Her heart was filled with +an insatiable desire to know more and more of the beautiful world about +her. She gathered knowledge from every country walk; she showed so much +"uncommon sense," David Eby said, that it was a keen pleasure to show +her the nests of the thrush or the rare nests of the humming-bird. David +and his mother, enthusiastic seekers after nature knowledge, augmented +the father's nature education of Phoebe by frequent walks to field and +woods. And so, when Phoebe was twelve years old she knew the haunts of +all the wild flowers within walking distance of her home. With her +father or with David and Mother Bab she found the first marsh-marigolds +in the meadows, the first violets of the wooded slope of the hill, the +earliest hepatica with its woolly buds, the first windflowers and spring +beauties. She knew when the time was come for the bloodroot to lift its +pure white petals about the golden hearts in the spot where the rich +mould at the base of some giant tree nurtured the blooded plants. She +could find the canopied Jack-in-the-pulpit and the pink azalea on the +hill near her home. She knew the exact spot, a mile from the gray +farmhouse, where, in a lovely little wood by a quiet road, a profusion +of bird-foot violets and bluets made a carpet of blue loveliness each +spring--so on, through the fleet days of summer, till the last asters +and goldenrod faded, the child reveled in the beauties and wonders of +the world at her feet and loved every part of it, from the tiny blue +speedwell in the grass to the gorgeous orioles in the trees. What if +Aunt Maria sometimes scolded her for bringing so many "weeds" into the +house! With apparent unconcern she placed her flowers in a glass or +earthen jar and secretly thought, "Well, I'm glad I like these pretty +things; they are not weeds to me." + +The buoyancy of childhood tarried with her into girlhood. Like the old +inscription of the sun-dial, she seemed to "count none but sunny hours." +But those who knew her best saw that the shadows of life also left their +marks upon her. At times the gaiety was displaced by seriousness. Mother +Bab knew of the struggles in the girl's heart. Granny Hogendobler could +have told of the hours Phoebe spent with her consoling her for the +absence of Nason, mitigating the cruel stabs of the thoughtless people +who condemned him, comforting with the assurance that he would return to +his home some day. Old Aaron loved the girl and found her always ready +to listen to his hackneyed story of the battle of Gettysburg. + +Phoebe was a student in the Greenwald High School when the war clouds +broke over Europe and the world seemed to go mad in a whirl. She hurried +to Old Aaron for his opinion on the terrible war. + +"Isn't it awful," she said to him, "that so many nations are flying at +each other's throats? And in these days of our boasted civilization!" + +"Awful," he agreed. "But, mark my words, this is just the beginning. +Before the thing's settled we'll be in it too." + +She shrank from the words. "Oh, no, not America! That would be too +terrible. David might go then, and a lot of Greenwald boys--oh, that +would be awful!" + +"Yes! But it would be far more dreadful to have them sit back safe while +others died for the freedom of the world. I'd rather have my boy a +soldier at a time like this than have him be ruler of a country." + +The old man's words ended quaveringly. The pent-up agony of his +disappointment in his son surged over him, and he bowed his head in his +hands and wept. + +Phoebe sent Granny to comfort him, and then stole away. The veteran's +grief left an impression upon her. Were his words prophetic? Would +America be drawn into the struggle? It was preposterous to dream of +that. She would forget the words of Old Aaron, for she had important +matters of her own to think about. In a few years she would be graduated +from High School and then she would have her own life-work to decide +upon. Her desire for larger experience, her determination to do +something of importance after graduation was her chief interest. The war +across the sea was too remote to bring constant fear to her. Dutifully +she went about her work on the farm and pursued her studies. She was not +without pity for the brave people of Servia and Belgium, not without +praise for the heroic French and English. She added her vehement words +of horror as she read of the atrocities visited upon the helpless +peoples. She shared in the dread of many Americans that the octopus-arm +of war might reach this country, and yet she was more concerned about +her own future than about the future of battle-racked France or +devastated Belgium. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +BEYOND THE ALPS LIES ITALY + + +PHOEBE'S graduation from the Greenwald High School was her red-letter +day. Several times during the morning she stole to the spare-room where +her graduation dress lay spread upon the high bed. Accompanied by Aunt +Maria she had made a special trip to Lancaster for the frock, though +Aunt Maria had conscientiously bought a few yards of muslin and apron +gingham. + +The material was soft silky batiste of the quality Phoebe liked. The +style, also, was of her choosing. She felt a glow of satisfaction as she +looked at the dress so simply, yet fashionably, made. + +"For once in my life I have a dress I like," she thought. + +After supper, just as she was ready to dress for the great event, Phares +Eby came to the gray farmhouse. + +The years had changed the solemn, serious boy into a more solemn, +serious man. Tall and broad-shouldered, he was every inch a man in +appearance. He was, moreover, a man highly respected in the community, a +successful farmer and also a preacher in the Church of the Brethren. The +latter honor had been conferred upon him a year before Phoebe's +graduation and had seemed to increase his gravity and endow him with +true bishopric dignity. He dressed after the manner of the majority of +men who are affiliated with the Church of the Brethren in that district. +His chin was covered with a thick, black beard, his dark hair was parted +in the middle and combed behind his ears. He looked ten years older than +he was and gave an impression of reserved strength, indomitable will and +rigidity of purpose in furthering what he deemed a good cause. + +Phoebe felt a slight intimidation in his presence as she noted how +serious he had grown, how mature he seemed. He appeared to desire the +same friendship with her and tried to be comradely as of old, but there +remained a feeling of restraint between them. + +"Hello, Phares," she greeted him as cordially as possible on her +Commencement night. + +"Good-evening," he returned. "Are you ready for the great event?" + +"Yes, if I don't have heart failure before I get in to town. If only I +had been fourth or fifth in the class marks instead of second, then I +might have escaped to-night with just a solo. As it is, I must deliver +the Salutatory oration." + +"Phoebe, you want to get off too easily! But I cannot stay more than a +minute, for I know you'll want to get ready. I just stopped to give you +a little gift for your graduation, a copy of Longfellow's poems." + +"Oh, thanks, Phares. I like his poems." + +"I thought you did. But I must go now," he said stiffly. "I'll see you +to-night at Commencement. I hope you'll get through the oration all +right." + +"Thanks. I hope so." + +When he was gone she made a wry face. "Whew," she whistled. "I'm sure +Phares is a fine young man but he's too solemncoly. He gives me the +woolies! If he's like that all the time I'm glad I don't have to live in +the same house. Wonder if he really knows how to be jolly. But, shame on +you, Phoebe Metz, talking so about your old friend! Perhaps for that +I'll forget my oration to-night." With a gay laugh she ran away to dress +for the most important occasion of her life. + +The white dress was vastly becoming. Its soft folds fell gracefully +about her slender young figure. Her hair was brushed back, gathered into +a bow at the top of her head, and braided into one thick braid which +ended in a curl. There were no loving fingers of mother or sister to +arrange the folds of her gown, no fond eyes to appraise her with looks +of approval, but if she felt the omission she gave no evidence of it. +She seemed especially gay as she dressed alone in her room. When she had +finished she surveyed herself in the glass. + +"Um, Phoebe Metz, you don't look half bad! Now go and do as well as you +look. If Aunt Maria heard me she'd be shocked, but what's the use +pretending to be so stupid or innocent as not to appreciate your own +good points. Any person with good sight and ordinary sense can tell +whether their appearance is pleasing or otherwise. I like this +dress----" + +"Phoebe," Aunt Maria's voice came up the stairs. + +"Yes?" + +"Why, David's down. Are you done dressing?" + +"I'll be down in a minute." + +David Eby, too, was a man grown, but a man so different! Like his +cousin, Phares, he was tall. He had the same dark hair and eyes but his +eyes were glowing, and his hair was cut close and his chin kept +smooth-shaven. + +Between him and Phoebe there existed the old comradeship, free of +restraint or embarrassment. He ran to meet her as her steps sounded on +the stairs. + +But she came down sedately, her hand sliding along the colonial +hand-rail, a calm dignity about her, her lovely head erect. + +"Good-evening," she said in quiet tones. + +"Whew!" he whistled. "Sweet girl graduate is too mild a phrase! Come, +unbend, Phoebe. You don't expect me to call you Miss Metz or to kiss +your hand--ah, shall I?" + +"Davie"--in a twinkling the assumed dignity deserted her, she was all +girl again, animated and adorable--"Davie, you're hopeless! Here I pose +before the mirror to find the most impressive way to hold my head and be +sufficiently dignified for the occasion, and you come bursting into the +hall like a tomboy, whistling and saying funny things." + +"I'm awfully sorry. But you took my breath away. I haven't gotten it +back yet"--he breathed deeply. + +"David, will you ever grow up?" + +"I'll have to now. I see you've gone and done it." + +"Ach no," she lapsed into the childhood expression. "I'm not grown up. +But how do I look? You won't tell me so I have to ask you." + +"You look like a Madonna," he said seriously. + +"Oh," she said impatiently, "that sounded like Phares." + +"Gracious, then I'll change it! You look like an angel and good enough +to eat. But honestly, Phoebe, that dress is dandy! You look mighty +nice." + +"Glad you think so. Shall I tell you a secret, David? I'm scared pink +about to-night." + +"You scared?" He whistled again. + +"Don't be so smart," she said with a frown. "Were you scared on your +Commencement night?" + +"Um-uh. At first I was. But you'll get over it in a few minutes. The +lights and the glory of the occasion dim the scary feeling when you sit +up there in the seats of honor. You should be glad your oration is +first." + +"I am. Mary Warner is welcome to her Valedictory and the long wait to +deliver it." + +Phoebe stiffened a bit at the thought of the other girl. Since the days +when the two girls attended the rural school on the hill and Mary Warner +was the possessor of curls while Phoebe wore the despised braids the +other girl seemed to have everything for which Phoebe longed. + +"Ah, don't you care about the honor," said David. "Honors don't always +tell who knows the most. Why, look at me; I was fifth in my class and I +know as much any day as the little runt who was first." + +"Conceit!" laughed Phoebe. "But I guess you do know more than he does. +Bet he never saw an orioles' nest or found a wild pink moccasin. You're +a wonder at such things, David." + +"Um," came the sober answer, but there was a merry twinkle in his eyes, +"I'm a wonder all right! Too bad only you and Mother Bab know it. But if +I don't soon go you won't get to town in time to get the pink roses +arranged just so for the grand march. The girls in our class primped +about twenty minutes, patting their hair and fixing their ribbons and +fussing with their flowers." + +"David, you're horrid!" + +"I know. But I brought you something more to primp with." He handed her +a small flat box. + +"For me?" + +"From Mother Bab," he said. + +"Oh, David, that's a beauty!" she cried as she held up a scarf of pale +blue crepe de chine. "I'll wear it to-night. Tell Mother Bab I thank her +over and over. But I'll see her to-night and tell her myself; she'll be +in at Commencement." + +"She can't come, Phoebe. She's sorry, but she has one of her dreadful +headaches and you know what that means, how sick she really is." + +"Oh, Davie, Mother Bab not coming to my Commencement--why, I'm so +disappointed, I want her there"--the tears were near the surface. + +"She's sorry, too, Phoebe, but she's too sick when those headaches get +her. Her eyes are the cause of them, we think now." + +"And I'm horribly selfish to think of myself and my disappointment when +she is suffering. You tell her I'll be up to see her in the morning and +tell her all about to-night. You are coming?" + +"Sure thing! Aunt Mary is coming over to stay with mother, but there is +really nothing to do for her; the pain seems to have to run its course. +She'll go to bed early and be perfectly all right when she wakes in the +morning. Come on, now, cheer up, and get ready for that 'Over the Alps +lies Italy.'" + +"It's 'Beyond the Alps lies Italy,'" she corrected him. Her +disappointment was softened by his cheerfulness. + +"Ach, it's all the same," he insisted, and went off smiling. + +To Phoebe that night seemed like a dream--the slow march down the aisle +of the crowded auditorium to the elevated platform where the nine +graduates sat in a semicircle; the sea of faces swathed in the bright +glow of many lights; the perfume of the pink roses in her arm; the music +of the High School chorus, and then the time when she rose and stood +before the people to deliver her oration, "Beyond the Alps lies Italy." + +She began rather shakily; the sea of faces seemed so very formidable, so +many eyes looked at her--how could she ever finish! She spoke +mechanically at first, but gradually the magic of the Italy of her +dreams stole upon her, a singular softness crept into her voice, a +mellowness like music, as she depicted the blue skies of the sunny +land-of-dreams-come-true. + +When she returned to her place in the semicircle a glow of satisfaction +possessed her. She felt she had not failed, that she had, in truth, done +very well. But later, when Mary Warner rose to deliver the Valedictory, +Phoebe felt her own efforts shrink into littleness. The dark-eyed +beautiful Mary was a sad thorn in the flesh for the fair girl who knew +she was always overshadowed by the brilliant, queenly brunette. +Involuntarily the country girl looked at David Eby--he was listening +intently to Mary; his eyes never seemed to leave her face. Little, sharp +pangs of jealousy thrust themselves into the depths of Phoebe's heart. +Was it true, then, that David cared for Mary Warner? Town gossips said +he frequented her house. Phoebe had met them together on the Square +recently--not that she cared, of course! She sat erect and held her pink +roses more tightly against her heart. It mattered little to her if David +liked other girls; it was only that she felt a sense of proprietorship +over the boy whose mother was her Mother Bab--thus she tried to console +herself and quiet the demons of jealousy until the program was +completed, congratulations received, and she stood with her aunt and +father, ready for the trip back to the gray farmhouse. + +Teachers and friends had congratulated her, but it was David Eby's +hearty, "You did all right, Phoebe," that gave her the keenest joy. + +"Did you walk in?" she asked him as she gathered her roses, diploma and +scarf, preparatory to departure. + +"Yes." + +"Then you can drive out with us," her father offered. + +"Yes, of course," she seconded the suggestion. "We have room in the +carriage." + +So it happened that Phoebe, the blue scarf about her shoulders, sat +beside David as they drove over the country road, home from her +graduation. The vehicle rattled somewhat, but the young folks on the +rear seat could speak and hear above the clatter. + +"I'm glad it's over," Phoebe sighed in relief. "But what next?" + +"Mary Warner is going to enter some prep school this fall and prepare +for Vassar," David informed the girl beside him. + +"Lucky Mary"--Mary Warner--she was sick of the name! "I wish I knew what +I want to do." + +"Want to go away to school?" + +"I don't know. Aunt Maria wants me to stay at home on the farm and just +help her. Daddy doesn't say much, but he did ask me if I would like to +go to Millersville. That's a fine Normal School and if I wanted to be a +teacher I'd go to that school, but I don't want to be a teacher. What I +really want to do is go away and study music." + +"Well, can't you do it? That is not really impossible." + +"No, but----" + +"No, but," he mimicked. "_But_ won't take you anywhere." + +"You set me thinking, David. Perhaps it isn't so improbable, after all. +I'm coming over to see Mother Bab to-morrow; she'll be full of +suggestions. She'll see a way for me to get what I want; she always +does." + +"I bet she will," agreed David. "You'll be that primer donner yet," he +mimicked, "I know you will." + +"Oh, Davie, wouldn't it be great! But I wouldn't beautify my face with +cream and beet juice and flour!" + +They laughed so heartily that Aunt Maria turned and asked the cause of +the merriment. + +"We were just speaking of the time when I dressed in the garret and +fixed my face--the time you had the quilting party." + +"Ach," Aunt Maria said, smiling in the darkness. "You looked dreadful +that day. I was good and mad at you! But I'm glad you're big enough now +not to do such dumb things. My, now that you're done with school and +will stay home with me we can have some nice times sewin' and quiltin' +and makin' rugs, ain't, Phoebe?" + +In the semi-darkness of the carriage Phoebe looked at David. The +appealing wistfulness of her face touched him. He patted her arm +reassuringly and whispered to her, "Don't you worry. It'll come out all +right. Mother Bab will help you." + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +A VISIT TO MOTHER BAB + + +THE next day as Phoebe walked up the hill to visit Mother Bab she went +eagerly and with an unusual light in her eyes--she had transformed her +schoolgirl braid into the coiffure of a woman! The golden hair was +parted in the middle, twisted into a shapely knot in the nape of her +neck, and the effect was highly satisfactory, she thought. + +"Mother Bab will be surprised," she said gladly as she swung up the hill +in rapid, easy strides. "And David--I wonder what David will say if he's +home." + +At the summit of the hill she paused and turned, looked back at the gray +farmhouse and beyond it to the little town of Greenwald. + +"I just must stand here a minute and look! I love this view from the +hill." + +She breathed deeply and continued to revel in the beauty of the scene. +At the foot of the hill was the Metz farm nestling in its green +surroundings. Like a tan ribbon the dusty road went winding past green +fields, then hid itself as it dipped into a valley and made a sharp +curve, though Phoebe knew that it went on past more fields and meadows +to the town. Where she stood she had a view of the tall spires of +Greenwald churches straggling through the trees, and the red and slate +roofs of comfortable houses gleaming in the sunlight. Beyond and about +the town lay fields resplendent in the pristine freshness of May +greenery. + +"Oh," she said aloud after a long gaze, "this is glorious! But I must +hurry to Mother Bab. I'm wild to have her see me. Aunt Maria just said +when I showed her my hair, 'Yes well, Phoebe, I guess you're old enough +to wear your hair up.' Mother Bab is different. Sometimes I pity Aunt +Maria and wonder what kind of childhood she had to make her so grim +about some things." + +The little house in which David and his mother lived stood near the +country road leading to the schoolhouse on the hill. Like many other +farmhouses of that county it was square, substantial and unadorned, its +attractiveness being derived solely from its fine proportions, its +colonial doorways, and the harmonious surroundings of trees and flowers. +The garden was eloquent of the lavish love bestowed upon it. Mother Bab +delighted in flowers and planted all the old favorites. The walks +between the garden beds were trim and weedless, the yard and buildings +well kept, and the entire little farm gave evidence that the reputed +Pennsylvania Dutch thrift and neatness were present there. + +Adjoining the farm of Mother Bab was the farm of her brother-in-law, the +father of Phares Eby. This was one of the best known in the community. +Its great barns and vast acres quite eclipsed the modest little dwelling +beside it. David Eby sometimes sighed as he compared the two farms and +wondered why Fate had bestowed upon his uncle's efforts an almost +unparalleled success while his own father had had a continual struggle +to hold on to the few acres of the little farm. Since the death of his +father David had often felt the straining of the yoke. It was toil, +toil, on acres which were rich but apparently unwilling to yield their +fullness. One year the crops were damaged by hail, another year +prolonged drought prevented full development of the fruit, again +continued rainy weather ruined the hay, and so on, year in and year out, +there was seldom a season when the farm measured up to the expectations +of the hard-working David. + +But Mother Bab never complained about the ill-luck, neither did she envy +the woman in the great house next to her. Mother Bab's philosophy of +life was mainly cheerful: + + "I find earth not gray, but rosy, + Heaven not grim, but fair of hue. + Do I stoop? I pluck a posy. + Do I stand and stare? All's blue." + +A little house to shelter her, a big garden in which to work, to dream, +to live; enough worldly goods to supply daily sustenance; the love of +her David--truly her BELOVED, as the old Hebrew name signifies--the love +of the dear Phoebe who had adopted her--given these blessings and no +envy or discontent ever ventured near the white-capped woman. Life had +brought her many hours of perplexity and several great sorrows, but it +had also bestowed upon her compensating joys. She felt that the years +would bring her new joys, now that her boy was grown into a man and was +able to manage the farm. Some day he would bring home a wife--how she +would love David's wife! But meanwhile, she was not lonely. Her friends +and she were much together, quilting, rugging, comparing notes on the +garden. + +"Guess Mother Bab'll be in the garden," thought Phoebe, "for it's such a +fine day." + +But as she neared the whitewashed fence of the garden she saw that the +place was deserted. She ran lightly up the walk, rapped at the kitchen +door, and entered without waiting for an answer to her knock. + +"Mother Bab," she called. + +"I'm here, Phoebe," came a voice from the sitting-room. + +"How are you? Is your headache all gone?" Phoebe asked as she ran to the +beloved person who came to meet her. + +"All gone. I was so disappointed last night--but what have you done to +your hair?" + +"Oh, I forgot!" Phoebe lifted her head proudly. "I meant to knock at the +front door and be company to-day. I've got my hair up!" + +"Phoebe, Phoebe," the woman drew her nearer. "Let me look at you." Her +eyes scanned the face of the girl, her voice quivered as she spoke. +"You've grown up! Of course it didn't come in a night but it seems that +way." + +"The May fairies did it, Mother Bab. Yesterday I wore a braid. This +morning when I woke I heard the robin who sings every morning in the +apple tree outside my window and he was caroling, 'Put it up! Put it +up!' I knew he meant my hair, so here I am, waiting for your blessing." + +"You have it, you always have it! But"--she changed her mood--"are you +sure the robin wasn't saying, 'Get up, get up!' Phoebe?" + +"Positive; it was only five o'clock." + +"Now I must hear all about last night," said Mother Bab as they sat +together on the broad wooden settee in the sitting-room. "David told me +how nice you looked and how well you did." + +"Did he tell you how pleased I am with the scarf? It's just lovely! And +the color is beautiful. I wonder why--I wonder why I love pretty things +so much, really pretty things, like crepe de chine and taffeta and panne +velvet and satin. Oh, sometimes I think I must have them. When I go to +Lancaster I want lots of lovely clothes and I hate ginghams and percales +and serviceable things." + +"I know, Phoebe, I know how you feel about it." + +"Do you really? Then it can't be so awfully wicked. You are so +understanding, Mother Bab. I can't tell Aunt Maria how I feel about such +things for she'd be dreadfully hurt or worried or provoked, but you seem +always to know what I mean and how I feel." + +"I was eighteen myself once, a good many years ago, but I still remember +it." + +"You have a good memory." + +"Yes. Why, I can remember some of the dresses I wore when I was +eighteen. But then, I have a dress bundle to help me remember them." + +"What's a dress bundle?" + +"Didn't Aunt Maria keep one for you?" + +"I never heard of one." + +"It's a long string of samples of dresses you wore when you were little. +Wait, I'll get mine and show you." + +She left the room and went up-stairs. After a short time she returned +and held out a stout thread upon which were strung small, irregular +scraps of dress material. "This is my dress bundle. My mother started it +for me when I was a baby and kept it up till I was big enough to do it +myself. Every time I got a new dress a little patch of the goods was +threaded on my dress bundle." + +"Oh, may I see? Why, that's just like a part of your babyhood and +childhood come back!" + +The two heads bent over the bundle--the girl's with its light hair in +its first putting up, the woman's with its graying hair folded under the +white cap. + +"Here"--Mother Bab turned the bundle upside down and fingered the scraps +with that loving way of those who are dreaming of long departed days and +touching a relic of those cherished hours--"this white calico with the +little pink dots was the first dress any one gave me. Grandmother +Hoerner made it for me, all by hand. Funny, wasn't it, the way they used +to put colored dresses on wee babies! See, here are pink calico ones and +white with red figures and a few blue ones. I wore all these when I was +a baby. Then when I grew older these; they are much prettier. This red +delaine I wore to a spelling bee when I was about sixteen and I got a +book for a prize for standing up next to last. This red and black +checked debaige I can see yet. It had an overskirt on it trimmed with +little ruffles. This purple cashmere with the yellow sprigs in it I had +all trimmed with narrow black velvet ribbon. I'll never forget that +dress--I wore it the day I met David's father." + +"Oh, you must have looked lovely!" + +"He said so." She smiled; her eyes looked beyond Phoebe, back to the +golden days of her youth when Love had come to her to bless and to abide +with her long beyond the tarrying of the spirit in the flesh. "He said I +looked nice. I met him the first time I wore the purple dress. It was at +a corn-husking party at Jerry Grumb's barn. Some man played the fiddle +and we danced." + +"Danced!" echoed Phoebe. + +"Yes, danced. But just the old-fashioned Virginia reel. We had cider and +apples and cake and pie for our treat and we went home at ten o'clock! +David walked home with me in the moonlight and I guess we liked each +other from the first. We were married the next year, then we both turned +plain." + +"Were you ever sorry, Mother Bab?" + +"That I married him, or that I turned plain?" + +"Yes. Both, I mean." + +"No, never sorry once, Phoebe, about either. We were happy together. And +about turning plain, why, I wasn't sorry either." + +"But you had to give up Virginia reels and pretty dresses." + +"Yes, but I learned there are deeper, more important things than dancing +and wearing pretty dresses." + +She looked at Phoebe, but the girl had bowed her head over the dress +bundle and appeared to be thinking. + +"And so," continued Mother Bab softly, "my bundle ended with that dress. +Since I dress plain I don't wear colors, just gray and black. But I +always thought if I had a girl I'd start a dress bundle for her, for +it's so much satisfaction to get it out sometimes and look over the +pieces and remember the dresses and some of the happy times you had when +you wore them. But the girl never came." + +"But you have David!" + +"Yes, to be sure, he's been so much to me, but I couldn't make him a +dress bundle. He wouldn't have liked it when he grew older--boys are +different. And I wouldn't want him to be a sissy, either." + +"He isn't, Mother Bab. He's fine!" + +"I think so, Phoebe. He has worked so hard since he's through school and +he's so good to me and takes such care of the farm, though the crops +don't always turn out as we want. But you haven't told me what you are +going to do, now that you're through school." + +"I don't know. I want to do something." + +"Teach?" + +"No. What I would like best of all is study music." + +"In Greenwald? You mean to learn to play?" + +"No, to learn to sing. I have often dreamed of studying music in a great +city, like Philadelphia." + +"What would you do then?" + +"Sing, sing! I feel that my voice is my one talent and I don't want to +bury it." + +"Well, don't Miss Lee live in Philadelphia? Perhaps she could help you +to get a good teacher and find a place to board." + +"Mother Bab!" Phoebe sprang to her feet and wrapped her arms about the +slender little woman. "That's just it!" she cried. "I never thought of +that! David said you'd help me. I'll write to Miss Lee to-day!" + +"Phoebe," the woman said, smiling at the girl's wild enthusiasm. + +"I'm not crazy, just inspired," said Phoebe. "You helped me, I knew you +would! I want to go to Philadelphia to study music but I know daddy and +Aunt Maria would never listen to any proposals about going to a big city +and living among strangers. But if I write to Miss Lee and she says +she'll help me the folks at home may consider the plan. I'll have a hard +time, though"--a reactionary doubt touched her--"I'll have a dreadful +time persuading Aunt Maria that I'm safe and sane if I mention music and +Philadelphia and Phoebe in the same breath." Then she smiled +determinedly. "At least I'm going to make a brave effort to get what I +want. I'm not going to settle down on the farm and get brown and fat and +wear gingham dresses all my life, and sunbonnets in the bargain! I never +could see why I had to wear sunbonnets, I always hated them. Aunt Maria +always tried to make me wear them, but as soon as I was out of her sight +I sneaked them off. I remember one time I threw my bonnet in the +Chicques and I had the loveliest time watching it disappear down the +stream. But Aunt Maria made me make another one that was uglier still, +so I gained nothing but the temporary pleasure of seeing it float away. +And how I hated to do patchwork! It seemed to me I was always doing it, +and I never could see the sense of cutting up pieces and then sewing +them together again." + +"But the sewing was good practice for you, Phoebe. Patchwork--seems to +me all our life is patchwork: a little here and a little there; one +color now, then another; one shape first, then another shape fitted in; +and when it is all joined it will be beautiful if we keep the parts +straight and the colors and shapes right. It can be a very beautiful +rising sun or an equally pretty flower basket, or it can be just a crazy +quilt with little of the beautiful about it." + +"Mother Bab, if I had known that while I was patching I would have loved +to patch! I had nothing to make it interesting; it was just stitching, +stitching, stitching on seams! But those vivid quilts are all finished +and I guess Aunt Maria is as glad about it as I am, for I gave her some +worried hours before the end was sighted. Poor Aunt Maria, she should be +glad to have me go to the city. I've led her some merry chases, but I +must admit she was always equal to them, forged ahead of me many times." + +"Phoebe, you're a wilful child and I'm afraid I spoil you more." + +"No you don't! You're my safety valve. If I couldn't come up here and +say the things I really feel I'd have to tell it to the Jenny +Wrens--Aunt Maria hates to have me talk to myself." + +"But she's good to you, Phoebe?" + +"Yes, oh, yes! I appreciate all she has done for me. She has taken care +of me since I was a tiny baby. I'll never forget that. It's just that we +are so different. I can't make Phoebe Metz be just like Maria Metz, can +I?" + +"No, you must be yourself, even if you are different." + +"That's it, Mother Bab. I feel I have the right to live my life as I +choose, that no person shall say to me I must live it so or so. If I +want to study music why shouldn't I do so? My mother left a few hundred +dollars for me; it's been on interest and amounts to more than a few +hundred, about a thousand dollars, I think. So the money end of my +studying music need not worry Aunt Maria. I am determined to do it, +wouldn't you?" + +"I suppose I'd feel the same way." + +"How did you learn to understand so well, Mother Bab? You have lived all +your life on a farm, yet you are not narrow." + +"I hope I have not grown narrow," the woman said softly. "I have read a +great deal. I have read--don't you breathe it to a soul--I have often +read when I should have been baking pies or washing windows!" + +"No wonder David worships you so." + +"I still enjoy reading," said Mother Bab. "David subscribes for three +good magazines and when they come I'm so anxious to look into them that +sometimes my cooking burns." + +"That must be one of the reasons your English is correct. I am ashamed +of myself when I mix my v's and w's and use a _t_ for a _d_. I have +often wished the Pennsylvania Dutch dialect would have been put aside +long ago." + +"Yes," the woman agreed, "I can't see the need of it. It has been +ridiculed so long that it should have died a natural death. It's a +mystery to me how it has survived. But cheer up, Phoebe, the gibberish +is dying out. The older people will continue to speak it but the younger +generations are becoming more and more English speaking. Why, do you +know, Phoebe, since this war started in Europe and I read the dreadful +crimes the Germans are committing I feel that I never want to hear or +say, 'Yah.'" + +"Bully!" Phoebe clapped her hands. "I said to old Aaron Hogendobler +yesterday that I'm ashamed I have a German name and some German +ancestors, even if they did come to this country before the Revolution, +and he said no one need feel shame at that, but every American who is +not one hundred per cent American should die from shame. I know we +Pennsylvania Dutch can carry our end of the burdens of the world and be +real Americans, but I want to sound like one too." + +Mother Bab laughed. "Just yesterday I said to David that the butter was +_all_." + +"I say that very often. I must read more." + +"And I less. I haven't told you, Phoebe, nor David, but my eyes are +going back on me. I went to Lancaster a few weeks ago and the doctor +there said I must be very careful not to strain them at all. I think I'd +rather lose any other sense than sight. I always thought it was the +greatest affliction in the world to be blind." + +"It is! It mustn't come to you, Mother Bab!" + +The woman looked worried, but in a moment her face brightened. + +"Anyhow," she said, "what's the use of worrying or thinking about it? If +it ever comes I'll have to bear it just as many other people are bearing +it. I'm glad I have sight to-day to see you." + +Phoebe gave her an ecstatic hug. "I believe you're Irish instead of +Pennsylvania Dutch! You do know how to blarney and you have that +coaxing, lovely way about you that the Irish are supposed to have." + +"Why, Phoebe, I am part Irish! My mother's maiden name was McKnight. +David and I still have a few drops of the Irish blood in us, I suppose." + +"I just knew it! I'm glad. I adore the whimsical way the Irish have, and +I like their sense of humor. I guess that's one of the reasons I like +you better than other people I know and perhaps that's why David is +jolly and different from Phares. Ah," she added roguishly, "I think it's +a pity Phares hasn't some Irish blood in him. He's so solemn he seldom +sees a joke." + +"But he's a good boy and he thinks a lot of you. He's just a little too +quiet. But he's a good preacher and very bright." + +"Yes, he's so good that I'm ashamed of myself when I say mean things +about him. I like him, but people with more life are more interesting." + +"Hello, who's this you like?" David's hearty voice burst upon them. + +Phoebe turned and saw him standing in the sunlight of the open door. The +thought flashed upon her, "How big and strong he is!" + +He wore brown corduroys, a blue chambray shirt slightly open at the +throat, heavy shoes. His face was already tanned by the wind and sun, +his hands rough from contact with soil and farming implements, his dark +hair rumpled where he had pulled the big straw hat from his head, but +there was an odor of fresh spring earth about him, a boyish +wholesomeness in his face, that attracted the girl as she looked at his +frame in the doorway. + +There was a flash of white teeth, a twinkle in his dark eyes, as he +asked, "What did I hear you say, Phoebe--that you like _me_?" + +"Indeed not! I wouldn't think of liking anybody who deceived me as you +have done. All these years you have left me under the impression that +you are Pennsylvania Dutch and now Mother Bab says you are part Irish." + +"Little saucebox! What about yourself? You can't make me believe that +you are pure, unadulterated Pennsylvania Dutch. There's some alien blood +in you, by the ways of you. Have you seen Phares this afternoon?" he +asked irrelevantly. + +"Phares? No. Why?" + +"He went down past the field some time ago. Said he's going to +Greenwald and means to stop and ask you to go to a sale with him next +week. He said you mentioned some time ago that you'd like to go to a +real old-fashioned one and he heard of one coming off next week and +thought you might like to go." + +"I surely want to go. Don't you want to come, too, David? And Mother +Bab?" + +But David shook his head. "And spoil Phares's party," he said. "Phares +wouldn't thank us." + +Phoebe shrugged her shoulders. "Ach, David Eby, you're silly! Just as +though I want to go to a sale all alone with Phares! He can take the big +carriage and take us all." + +"He can but he won't want to." David showed an irritating wisdom. "When +I invite you to come on a party with me I won't want Phares tagging +after, either. Two's company." + +"Two's boredom sometimes," she said so ambiguously that the man laughed +heartily and Mother Bab smiled in amusement. + +"Come now, Phoebe," David said, "just because you put your hair up you +mustn't think you can rule us all and don grown-up airs." + +"Then you do notice things! I thought you were blind. You are downright +mean, David Eby! When you wore your first pair of long pants I noticed +it right away and made a fuss about them and it takes you ten minutes to +see that my hair is up instead of hanging in a silly braid down my +back." + +"I saw it first thing, Phoebe. That was mean--I'm sorry----" + +"You look it," she said sceptically. + +"I'm sorry," he repeated, "to see the braid go, though you look fine +this way. I liked that long braid ever since the day I braided it, the +day you played prima donna. Remember?" + +The girl flushed, then was vexed at her embarrassment and changed +suddenly to the old, appealing Phoebe. + +"I remember, Davie. You were my salvation that day, you and Mother Bab." + +Before they could answer she added with seeming innocency, yet with a +swift glance into the face of the farmer boy, "I must go now so I'll be +home when Phares comes to invite me to that sale. I'm going with him; +I'm wild to go." + +"Yes?" David said slowly. + +"Yes," she repeated, a teasing look in her eyes. + +"Mommie, isn't she fine?" David said after Phoebe was gone and he +lingered in the house. + +"Mighty fine. But she is so different from the general run of girls; +she's so lively and bright and sweet, so sensitive to all impressions. +She's anxious to get to the city to study music. It would be a wonderful +experience for her--and yet----" + +"And yet----" echoed David, then fell into silence. + +Mother Bab was thinking of her boy and Phoebe, of their gay comradeship. +How friendly they were, how well-mated they appeared to be, how +appreciative of each other. Could they ever care for each other in a +deeper way? Did the preacher care for the playmate of his childhood as +she thought David was beginning to care? + +"Well, I must go again, mommie. I came in for a drink at the pump and +heard you and Phoebe. Now I must hustle for I have a lot to do before +sundown--ach, why aren't we rich!" + +"Do you wish for that?" + +"Certainly I do. Not wealthy; just to have enough so we needn't lie +awake wondering if the dry spell or the wet spell or the hail will ruin +the crops. I wish I could find an Aladdin's lamp." + +"Davie"--the smile faded from her face--"don't get the money craze. +Money isn't everything. This farm is paid for and we can always make a +comfortable living. Money isn't all." + +"No, but--but it means everything sometimes to a young, single fellow. +But don't you worry; the crops are fine this year, so far." + +The mother did not forget his words at once. "It must be," she thought, +"that David wants Phoebe and feels he must have more money before he can +ask her to marry him. Will men never learn that girls who are worth +getting are not looking so much for money but the man. The young can't +see the depth and fullness of love. I've tried to teach David, but I +suppose there's some things he must learn for himself." + + + + +CHAPTER X + +AN OLD-FASHIONED COUNTRY SALE + + +A WEEK later Phares and Phoebe drove into the barnyard of a farm six +miles from Greenwald, where the old-fashioned sale was scheduled to be +held. + +"We are not the first, after all," said the preacher as he saw the +number of conveyances in and about the barnyard. He smiled +good-humoredly as he led the way--he could afford to smile when he was +with Phoebe. + +All about the big yard of the farm were placed articles to be sold at +public auction. It was a miscellaneous collection. A cradle with +miniature puffy feather pillows, straw tick and an old patchwork quilt +of pink and white calico stood near an old wood-stove which bore the +inscription, CONOWINGO FURNACE. Corn-husk shoe-mats, a quilting frame, +rocking-chairs, two spinning-wheels, copper kettles, rolls of hand-woven +rag carpet, old oval hat-boxes and an old chest stood about a huge table +which was laden with jars of jellies. Chests, filled with linens and +antique woolen coverlets, afforded a resting place for the fortunate +ones who had arrived earliest. A few antique chairs and tables, a +mahogany highboy in excellent condition and an antique corner-cupboard +of wild-cherry wood occupied prominent places among the collection. +Truly, the sale warranted the attention it was receiving. + +"I'd like to bid on something--I'm going to do it!" Phoebe said as they +looked about. "When I was a little girl and went to sales with Aunt +Maria I coaxed to bid, just for the excitement of bidding. But she +always made me tell what I wanted and then she bid on it." + +"What do you want to buy?" asked the preacher. + +"Oh, I don't know. I don't want any apple-butter in crocks, or any +chairs. Oh, I'll have some fun, Phares! I'll bid on the third article +they put up for sale! I heard a man say the dishes are going to be sold +first, so I'll probably get a cracked plate or a saucer without a cup, +but whatever it is, the third article is going to be mine." + +"That is rather rash," warned Phares. "It may be a bed or a chest." + +"You can't scare me. I'm going to have some real thrills at this sale." + +The preacher entered into the spirit of the girl and smiled at her +promise to bid on the third thing put up for sale. + +"Oh, look at the highboy," she exclaimed to him. + +"Do you like it?" he asked. + +"Yes. See how it's inlaid with hollywood and cherry and how fine the +lines of it are! I wonder how much it will bring. But Aunt Maria'd scold +if I brought any furniture home, so I can't buy it." + +"The price will depend upon the number of bidders and the size of their +pocketbooks. If any dealers in antiques are here it may run way up. We +used to buy homespun linen and fine old furniture very cheap at sales, +but the antique dealers changed that." + +By that time the number of people was steadily increasing. They came +singly and in groups, in carriages, farm wagons, automobiles and afoot. +Some of the curious went about examining each article in the motley +collection in the yard. + +Phoebe watched it all with an amused smile; finally she broke into merry +laughter. + +Phares looked up inquiringly: "What is it?" + +"This is great sport! I haven't been to a good sale for several years. +That old man has knocked his fist upon every chair and table, has tested +every piece of furniture, has opened all the bureau drawers, even the +case of the old clock, and just a moment ago he rocked the cradle +furiously to convince himself that it is in good working condition. Here +he comes with a pewter plate in his hand--let's hear what he has to say +about it." + +The old man's cracked harsh voice rose above the confusion of other +sounds as he leaned against a table near Phoebe and Phares and spoke to +another man: + +"Here now, Eph, is one of them pewter plates that folks fuss so about +just now, and I hear they put them in their dinin'-rooms along the wall! +Why, when I was a boy my granny had a lot of 'em and we'd knock 'em +around any way. Ha, ha," he laughed loudly, "I can tell you a good one, +Eph, about one of them pewter dishes." + +He slapped the plate against his knee, but the thud was instantly +drowned by his quick, "Ach, Jimminy, I hit myself pretty hard that time! +But I'll tell you about it, Eph. You heard of the fellows from the city +who go around the country hunting up old relics, all old truck, and sell +it again in the city? Well, one of them fellows come to my house the +other week and asked if I had anything old-fashioned I would sell. Now +if Lizzie'd been home we might got rid of some of the old things we have +on the garret, but I was alone and I didn't know what I dared sell--you +know how the women is. So I said, 'What kind of old things do you want?' + +"'Oh,' he said, 'I buy old furniture, dishes, linen, pewter----' + +"'Pewter?' I said. 'Who wants that?' + +"'There is a great demand for it,' he said, 'and I will give you a good +price for any you have.' + +"'Well,' I laughed, 'I have just one piece of pewter.' + +"'Where is it?' + +"'Why, the cats have been eating out of it for a few years.' + +"'May I see it?' he asks. + +"So I took him out to the barn and showed him the big pewter bowl the +cats eat out of and he said, 'I'll give you fifty cents for that dish.' + +"Gosh, I said to him, 'Mister, I was just fooling with you. I know you +don't want a cat-dish.' + +"But he said again, 'I'll give you fifty cents for that dish.' + +"So when I saw that he really meant it and wanted the dish I wrapped +the old pewter dish in a paper and he gave me half a dollar for it. When +I told Lizzie about it she laughed good and said the city folks must be +dumb if they want pewter dishes when you can buy such nice ones for ten +cents. Yes, Eph, that's the fellow's going to auctioneer. He's a good +one, you bet; he keeps things lively all the time. All his folks is good +talkers. Lizzie says his mom can talk the legs off an iron pot. But then +he needs a good tongue in this business; it takes a lot of wind to be an +auctioneer, specially at a big sale like this. He says it's going to be +a wonderful sale, that he ain't had one like it for years. There's +things here belonged to the family for three generations, been handed +down and handed down and now to-day it'll get scattered all over +Lancaster County, mebbe further. This saving up things and not using 'em +is all nonsense. I tell Lizzie we'll use what we got and get new when +it's worn out and not let a lot back for the young ones to fight over or +other people to buy." + +Here the auctioneer climbed upon a big box, clapped his hands and called +loudly, "Attention, attention! This sale is about to begin. We have here +a collection of fine things, all in good condition. The terms of the +sale are cash. Now, folks, bid up fast and talk loud when you bid so I +can hear you. We have here some of the finest antique dishes in the +country, also some furniture that can't be duplicated in any store +to-day. We'll begin on this cherry table." + +He lifted a spindle-legged table in the air and went on talking. + +"Now that's a fine table to begin with! All solid cherry, no screws +loose--and that's more than you can say about some people--now what's +bid for this table? Fine and good as the day it came out of a good +workman's shop; no scratches on it--the Brubaker people knew how to take +care of furniture. Who bids? How much for it do you bid? Fifty +cents--fifty, all right--make it sixty--sixty cents I'm bid. Sixty, +sixty, sixty--seventy--go ahead, eighty--go on--ninety, one dollar, one +dollar ten, twenty, thirty--keep on--one dollar thirty, make it forty, +forty, forty, forty, I have a dollar forty for this table--all done? +Going--all done--all done?" + +All was said in one breathless succession of words. He paused an instant +to gather fresh impetus, then resumed, "All done--any more? Gone at a +dollar forty to----" + +"Lizzie Brubaker." + +"Sold to Lizzie Brubaker." + +"There," whispered the preacher to Phoebe, "that's one." + +She smiled and nodded her head. + +"Here now," called the auctioneer, "here's a fine set of chairs. Bid on +them; wink to me if you don't want to call out. My wife said she don't +care how many ladies wink to me this afternoon at this sale, but after +that she won't have it--now then; go ahead! Give me one of the chairs, +Sam, so the people can see it--ah, ain't that a beauty! Six in all, all +solid wood, too, none of your cane seats that you have to be afraid to +sit in. All solid wood, and every one alike, all painted green and +every one with fine hand-painted flowers on the back. Where can you beat +such chairs? Don't make them any more these days, real antiques they +are! Bid up now, friends; how much a piece? The six go together, it +would be a shame to part them. Fifteen cents did I hear?--Say, I'm +ashamed to take a bid like that! Twenty, that's a little better--thirty, +thirty, forty over here? Forty cents I have, fifty, sixty, seventy, +seventy-five, eighty, eighty, eighty cents I'm bid; I'm bid eighty +cents--make it ninety--ninety I'm bid, make it a dollar--ninety, +ninety--all done at ninety? Guess we'll let Jonas Erb have them at +ninety cents a piece, and real bargains they are!" + +"Here's where I bid," said Phoebe, her cheeks rosy from excitement. + +"Shall I release you from your promise?" offered the preacher. + +"No, I'll bid." + +"Attention," called the auctioneer. "Attention, everybody! Here we have +a real antique, something worth bidding on!" + +Phoebe held her breath. + +"Here now, Sam, give it a lift so everybody can see--ah, there you are!" + +He shouted the last words as two men held above the crowd--the old +wooden cradle! + +Phoebe groaned and looked at Phares--he was smiling. The old aversion to +ridicule swelled in her; he should not have reason to laugh at her; she +would show him that she was equal to the occasion--she would bid on the +cradle! + +"Start it, hurry up, somebody. How much is bid for the cradle? Sam here +says it's been in the Brubaker family for years and years. Think of all +the babies that were rocked to sleep in it--it's a real relic." + +Phoebe, unacquainted with the value of cradles, was silently endeavoring +to determine the proper amount for a first bid. She was relieved to hear +a woman's voice call, "Twenty-five cents." + +"Twenty-five I have, twenty-five," called the auctioneer. "Make it +thirty." + +"Thirty," said Phoebe. + +"Forty," came from the other woman. + +"Make it fifty, Miss." He pointed a fat finger at Phoebe. + +"Fifty," she responded. + +"Fifty, fifty, anybody make it sixty? Fifty cents--all done at fifty? +Then it goes at fifty cents to"--Phoebe repeated her name--"to Phoebe +Metz." + +He proceeded with the sale. Phoebe turned triumphantly to the +preacher--"I kept my promise." + +"You did," he said. "The cradle is yours--what are you going to do with +it?" + +"Gracious! Why, I never thought of that! I don't want it. I just wanted +the fun of bidding. Can't I pay it and leave it and they can sell it +over again?" + +"You bid rashly," the preacher said, though his eyes were smiling and +his usual tone of admonition was absent from his voice. "I think you may +be able to sell it to the woman who was bidding against you." + +"I'll find her and give it to her." + +She elbowed her way through the crowd until she reached the place from +which the opposing voice had come. She looked about a moment, then +addressed a woman near her. "Do you know who was bidding on the cradle?" + +"Yes, it was Hetty here, the one with the white waist. Here, Hetty, this +lady wants to talk to you." + +"To me?" echoed the rival bidder for the cradle. + +"Did you bid on the cradle?" asked Phoebe. + +"Yes, but I didn't get it. I only wanted it because it was in the family +so long. I'm a Brubaker. I said I wouldn't give more than fifty cents +for it, for it would just stand up in the garret anyway, and be one more +thing to move around at housecleaning time. Yet I'd liked to have it. I +don't know who got it." + +"I did, but I don't want it. I'd like to give it to you." + +"Why"--the woman was amazed--"what did you bid on it for?" + +"Just for the fun of bidding," said Phoebe, laughing. "Will you let me +give it to you?" + +"I'll give you half a dollar for it," offered the woman. + +"No, I mean it. I want to give it to you. I'll consider it a favor if +you'll take it from me." + +"Well, if you want it that way. But don't you want the quilt and the +feather pillows?" + +"No, take it just as it is." + +"Why, thanks," said the woman as she went to the spot where the cradle +stood. She soon walked away with the clumsy gift in her arm. "Now don't +it beat all," she said as she set it down near her friends. "I just knew +that I'd get a present to-day. This morning I put my stocking on wrong +side out and I just left it for they say still that it means you'll get +a present before the day is over, and here I get this cradle!" + +With a bright smile illumining her face, Phoebe rejoined the preacher. + +"I see you disposed of the cradle," he greeted her. + +"Yes. But I felt like a hypocrite when she thanked me, for I was giving +her what I didn't want." + +Here the busy auctioneer called again, "Attention, everybody! This piece +of furniture we are going to sell now dates back to ante-bellum days." + +"Ach, it don't," Phoebe heard a voice exclaim. "That never belonged to +any person called Bellem; that was old Amanda Brubaker's for years and +she used to tell me that it belonged to her grandmother once. That man +don't know what he's saying, but that's the way these auctioneers do; +you can't believe half they say at a sale half the time." + +Phoebe looked up at Phares; both smiled, but the loquacious auctioneer, +not knowing the comments he was causing, went on serenely: + +"Yes, sir, this is a real old piece of furniture, a real antique. Look +at this, everybody--a chest of drawers, a highboy, some people call it, +but it's pretty by any name. All of it is genuine mahogany trimmed with +inlaid pieces of white wood. Start it up, somebody. What will you give +for the finest thing we have here at this sale to-day? What's bid? Good! +I'm bid five dollars to begin; shows you know a good thing when you see +it. Five dollars--make it ten?" + +"Ten," answered Phares Eby. + +Phoebe gave a start of surprise as the preacher's voice came in answer +to the entreaty of the auctioneer. + +"Phares," she whispered, "I didn't mean that I want to buy it." + +"I am buying it," he said calmly, an inscrutable smile in his eyes. "You +like it, don't you?" + +She felt a vague uneasiness at his words, at the new sound of tenderness +in his voice. + +"Yes, I like it, but----" + +"Then we'll talk about that some other day soon," he returned, and +looked again at the busy auctioneer. + +"Ten dollars, ten, ten," came the eager call of the man on the +box. "Who makes it fifteen? That's it--fifteen I have--sixteen, +eighteen--twenty--twenty-five, thirty--thirty, thirty, come on, who +makes it more? Not done yet? Not going for that little bit? Who makes +it thirty-five?" + +"Thirty-five," said Phares. + +"Thirty-five," the auctioneer caught at the words. "That's the way to +bid." + +"Thirty-eight," came a voice from the crowd. + +"Thirty-eight," the auctioneer smiled broadly at the bid. "Some person +is going to get a fine antique--keep it up, the highest bidder gets +it--thirty-eight----" + +"Forty," offered Phares. + +"Forty, forty dollars--I have forty dollars offered for the highboy--all +done at forty----" + +There was a tense silence. + +"Forty dollars--all done at forty--last call--going--going--gone. Gone +at forty dollars to Phares Eby." + +Phoebe turned to the preacher. "Did you bid just for the fun of +bidding?" she asked. + +"Well," he replied slowly, "the cases are not exactly alike. You like +the highboy, don't you?" + +"Yes--but what has that to do with it?" She looked up, but turned her +head away quickly. What did he mean? Surely Phares was not given to +foolishness or love-making to her! + +She was glad that he suggested moving to the edge of the crowd after his +successful bidding was completed. There a welcome diversion came in the +form of the old man who had previously amused them by his talk about the +pewter plate. + +"There now, Eph," he was saying, "what do you think of paying forty +dollars for that old chest of drawers? To be sure it's good and all the +drawers work yet--I tried 'em before the sale commenced. But forty +dollars--whew!" + +The stupidity and extravagance of some people silenced him for a moment, +then he continued: "My Lizzie, now, she knows better how to spend money. +She bought ten dollars' worth of flavors and soap and things like that +and she got in the bargain a big chest of drawers bigger than this old +one, and it was polished up finer and had a looking-glass on the top +yet. That man must have a lot of money to give forty dollars for one +piece of furniture! Ach"--in answer to a remonstrance from his +companion--"they can't hear me. I don't talk loud, and anyhow, they're +listening to the auctioneer. That girl with him has a funny streak too. +She bought the old cradle and then I heard her tell Hetty that she just +bought it for fun and she gave it to Hetty. So, is that man Phares Eby +from near Greenwald? Well, I thought he'd have too much sense to buy +such a thing for forty dollars, but some people gets crazy when they get +to a sale. Who ever heard of a person buying a cradle for fun and giving +it away? But I guess that cradles went out of style some time ago. My +girl Lizzie wasn't raised with funny notions like some girls have +nowadays, but when she was married and had her first baby and we told +her she could borrow the old cradle she was rocked in to put her baby +in, she said she didn't want it, for cradles ain't healthy for babies, +it is bad to rock babies! I guess that was her man's dumb notion, for +he's a professor in the High School where they live, but he's just Jake +Forney's John. They get along fine, but they do some dumb things. They +let that baby yell till he found out that he wouldn't get rocked. It +made her mom quite sick when we were up to visit them, and sometimes +we'd sneak rocking it a little, just so the little fellow'd know there +is such a thing as getting rocked. They don't want any person to kiss +that baby, neither. Course I ain't in favor of everybody kissing a baby, +but I can't see the hurt of its own people kissing it. We used to take +it behind the door and kiss it good, and it's living yet. Ain't, Eph, +it's a wonder we ever growed up, the way we were bounced and rocked and +joggled and kissed! I say it ain't right to go back on cradles; they +belong to babies. But look, Eph, there she's buying them old copper +sheep bells! Wonder if she keeps sheep." + +Phoebe, triumphant bidder for a pair of hand-beaten copper sheep bells, +turned and looked at the farmer. The tenderness of a bright smile still +played about her lips and the old man, interpreting the smile as a +personal greeting to him, drew near and spoke to her. + +"I can tell you what to take to clean them bells." + +"Thank you," she answered cordially, "but I do not want to clean them." + +"But you can make them shiny if you take----" + +"You are very kind, but I really want to keep them just as they are." + +The old man looked at her for a moment, then shook his head as though in +perplexity and turned away. + +Several more hours of vigorous work on the part of the noisy auctioneer +resulted in the sale of the miscellaneous collection of articles. + +The loquacious old farmer was often moved to whistle or to emit a low +"Gosh" as the sale progressed and seemingly valueless articles were sold +for high prices. A linen homespun table-cloth, woven in geometrical +design, occasioned spirited bidding, but the man on the box was equal to +the task and closed the bids at twenty dollars. Homespun linen towels +were bought eagerly for seven, eight, nine dollars. A genuine buffalo +robe was knocked down to a bidder at the price of eighty dollars. Cups +and saucers and plates sold for from two to four dollars each. But it +was an old blue glass bottle that provoked the greatest sensation. +"Gosh, who wants that?" said the old man as the bottle was brought +forth. "If he throws a cup or plate in with it mebbe somebody will give +a penny for it." + +But a moment later, as an antique dealer started the bid at a dollar the +old man spluttered, "Jimminy pats! Why, it's just an old glass bottle!" + +Some person enlightened him--it was Stiegel glass! After the first bid +on the bottle every one became attentive. The two rival bidders were +alert to every move of the auctioneer, the bids leapt up and up--ten +dollars--eleven dollars--twelve dollars--thirteen dollars--gone at +thirteen dollars! + +It was late afternoon when Phoebe and the preacher turned homeward. The +preacher's purchase had to be left at the farm until he could return for +it in the big farm wagon, but Phoebe thought of the highboy as they rode +along the pleasant country roads. She remembered the expression she had +caught on the face of Phares and the remembrance troubled her. She +sought desperately for some topic of conversation that would lead the +man's thoughts from the highboy and prevent the return of the mood she +had discovered at the sale. + +"You--Phares," she began confusedly, "you are going to baptize this next +time, Aunt Maria thought." + +"Yes." + +The preacher looked at the girl. The exhilarating influence of the early +June outdoors was visible in her countenance. Her eyes sparkled, her +cheeks glowed--she seemed the epitome of innocent, happy girlhood. The +vision charmed the preacher and caused the blood to course more swiftly +through his veins, but he bit his lip and steadied his voice to speak +naturally. "Yes, Phoebe, I want to speak to you about that." + +"Oh, dear," she thought, "now I _have_ done it! Why did I start him on +that subject!" Some of the excessive color faded from her face and she +looked ahead as he spoke. + +"Phoebe, the second Sunday in June I am going to baptize a number of +converts in the Chicques near your home. Are you ready to come with the +rest, and give up the vanities of the world?" + +"Oh, Phares, why do you ask me? I can't wear plain clothes while I love +pretty ones. I can't be a hypocrite." + +"But surely, Phoebe, you see that a simple life is more conducive to +happiness than a complex, artificial life can possibly be. It is my duty +to strive for the saving of souls and we have been friends so long that +I take a special interest in you and desire to see you safe in the +shelter of the Church." + +"Phares, I'll tell you frankly, if I ever wear plain garb it will be +because I _feel_ that it is the right thing for me to do, not because +some person persuades me to." + +"Of course, that is the only way to come. But can't you come now?" + +"I can't. I hurt you when I say that, but I want you to be my good +friend, as always, in spite of my worldliness. Will you, Phares?" + +He opened his lips to speak, but she went on quickly: "Because I am +learning every day how much I need the help and friendship of all my +friends." + +He longed to throw down the reins he was holding and tell her what was +in his heart, but something in her manner, her peculiar stress on the +word "friendship" restrained him. She was, after all, only a child. Only +eighteen--too young to think of marriage. He could wait a while longer +before he told her of his love and his desire to marry her. + +"I will, Phoebe," he promised. "I'll be your friend, always." + +"I thought so," she breathed deeply in relief. "I knew you wouldn't fail +me. Look at that field, Phares--oh, this is a perfect day! There should +be a superlative form of perfect for a day like this! Those fields have +as many colors as the shades reflected on a copper plate: lilac, tan, +purple, rose, green and brown." + +The preacher answered a mere "Yes." She turned again and looked at the +fields they were passing. "Perhaps," she thought, "before that corn is +ripe I'll be in Philadelphia!" But she did not utter the thought, for +she knew the preacher would not approve of her going to the city. He +should know nothing about it until it was definitely settled. + +The thought of studying music in Philadelphia left her restless. If only +the preacher would be more talkative! + +"It's just perfect to-day, isn't it, Phares?" she asked radiantly, +resolved to make him talk. But his answers were so perfunctory that she +turned her head, made a little grimace through the open side of the +carriage and mentally dubbed him "Bump-on-log." Very well, if he felt +indisposed to talk to her, she could enjoy the drive without his voice! + +Suddenly she laughed outright. + +"What----" he looked at her, puzzled. + +"What's funny?" she finished. "You." + +"I?" + +"Yes, you. If sales affect you like this you must be careful to avoid +them. You've been half asleep for the last half hour. I think the horse +knows the way home; you haven't been driving at all." + +"I have not been asleep," he contradicted gravely, "just thinking." + +"Must be deep thoughts." + +"They were--shall I tell them to you?" + +"Oh, no, not to-day!" she cried. "I've had enough excitement for one +day. Some other time. Besides, we are almost home." + +After that he threw off his lethargic manner and entered the girl's mood +of appreciation of the lavish loveliness of the June. Yet, as Phoebe +alighted from the carriage at the little gate of the Metz farm, and +after she had thanked him and started through the yard to the house, she +said softly to herself, "If Phares Eby isn't the queerest person I know! +Just like a clam one minute and just lovely the next!" + +Maria Metz was dishing a panful of fried potatoes as Phoebe entered the +kitchen. + +"Hello, daddy, Aunt Maria," exclaimed the girl. + +"So you come once?" said her aunt. + +"Have a good time?" asked her father. + +"Yes, it was a fine sale, a real old-fashioned one." + +But Aunt Maria was impatient for her supper. "Hurry," she said, "and get +washed to eat. I have everything out and it'll get cold, then it ain't +good. Did Phares like the sale? What did he have to say?" + +"Um, guess he liked it," said the girl with a shrug of her shoulders. +"It's hard to tell what he likes--he's such a queer person. He said he's +going to baptize the second Sunday of June and asked me if I want to +come with the others." + +"He did!" Aunt Maria could not keep the eagerness out of her voice. +"Well, let's sit down and eat." + +After a short grace she turned to the girl. "Now then," she said as she +helped herself generously to sausage and potatoes and handed the dishes +across the table to Phoebe, "tell us about it." + +"There isn't much to tell. I just told him that I can't renounce the +pleasures of the world before I had a chance to take hold of them. I'm +not ready yet to dress plain." + +"Why aren't you ready?" asked the woman. + +"Ach, don't ask me," Phoebe replied, speaking lightly in an effort to +conceal her real feeling. "I just didn't come to that state yet. I want +some more fun and pleasure before I think only of serious things." + +"You're just like a big baby," her aunt said impatiently. "You can hurt +a good man like Phares Eby and come home and laugh about it." + +"Now, Maria," interposed the father, "let her laugh; she'll meet with +crying soon enough, I guess." + +But the woman could not be easily silenced. "Some day, Phoebe, you'll +wish you'd been nicer to Phares." + +"Why, I am nice to him." + +"Well, anyhow, I think it's soon time you give up the world and its +vanities," said Aunt Maria. + +The girl's teasing mood fled. "I think," she said slowly, "that the +plain dress should not be worn by any one who does not realize all that +the dress stands for. If I ever turn plain I'll do so because I feel it +is the right thing to do, but just now vanity and the love of pretty +clothes are still in my heart." + +After the meal was over the women washed the dishes while Jacob went out +to attend to the evening milking. Later, when the poultry houses and +stables were locked he returned to the kitchen and read the weekly +paper. After a while he turned to Phoebe. + +"Will you sing for me this evening?" he asked. + +"Yes," came the ready response. + +"Then make the door shut," Aunt Maria directed as they went to the +sitting-room. "I want to mark my rug yet this evening and your noise +bothers me." + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +"THE BRIGHT LEXICON OF YOUTH" + + +"WHAT shall I sing?" Phoebe asked as her father sank into the big rocker +and she took her place at the low organ. + +"Ach, anything," he replied. + +She smiled, turned the pages of an old music book, and began to sing, +"Annie Laurie." Her father nodded approval and smiled when she followed +that with several other old-time favorites. Then she hesitated a moment, +a low melody came from the organ, and the words of the beautiful lullaby +fell from her lips: + + "Sweet and low, sweet and low, + Wind of the western sea; + Low, low,--breathe and blow, + Wind of the western sea; + Over the rolling waters go, + Come from the dying moon and blow, + Blow him again to me, + While my little one, while my pretty one sleeps." + +Phoebe sang the lullaby as gently as if a tiny head were nestled against +her bosom. She had within her, as has every normal, unspoiled woman, the +loving impulses and yearning tenderness of motherhood. Her womanhood's +star of hope shone brightly, though from a great distance; she devoutly +hoped for the fulfillment of her destiny, but always dreamed of it +coming in some time far removed from the present. Wifehood and +motherhood--that was her goal, but long years of other joys and other +achievements stretched between. Yet she felt an incomparable joy as she +sang the lullaby. She sang it easily and sweetly and uttered each word +with the freedom of one to whom music is second nature. + +To the man who listened memory drew aside the curtains of twenty years. +He beheld again the sweet-faced wife glorified with the blessed halo of +motherhood. He thrilled at the remembrance of her intense rapture as she +clasped her babe in moments of vivid ecstasy, or held it tenderly in her +arms as she sang the slumber song. The man was lost in revery--the sweet +voice of the mother had suddenly grown weak and drifted into silence--a +silence which would have been intolerable save for the lisping of a +child voice that was filled with the same indefinable sweetness the +treasured, silenced voice had possessed. In those first days of +bereavement Jacob Metz had clung to his motherless babe for comfort; her +love and caresses had renewed his strength and touched him with a divine +sense of his responsibility. His toil-hardened hands could not do the +mother's tasks for her but his heart could love sufficiently to +recompense, so far as that be possible, for the loss of the mother's +presence. His own childhood had been stripped of all romance, hence he +could not measure the value of the innocent pleasures of which Aunt +Maria, in her stern and narrow discipline, deprived the little girl; but +so far as he saw the light and so far as he was able, he quietly soothed +where Aunt Maria irritated, and mitigated by his interest and sympathy +the sternness of the woman's rule. + +A fleeting retrospect of the past years crowded upon him as he heard +Phoebe sing the mother's song. The two voices seemed strangely merged +and blended; when she ended and turned her face to him she seemed the +vivid reincarnation of that other Phoebe. + +"That's a pretty song, isn't it, daddy? You like it?" + +"Yes. Your mom used to sing you to sleep with it." + +"I wish I could remember. I can't remember her at all," the girl said +wistfully. + +"I wish you could, too. You look just like her. I'm glad you do. We Metz +people all have the black hair and dark eyes but you have your mom's +light hair and blue eyes. I see her every time I look at you." + +She seated herself near him. In a moment he spoke again, very +deliberately, with his characteristic expressiveness: + +"Phoebe, I want you to know more about your mom. You know she was plain, +a member of our Church. I would like you to dress like she did but I +don't want you to dress that way and then be dissatisfied and go back to +the dress of the world. Not many people do that, but those that do are +the laughing-stock of the world. I don't want you coaxed to be plain and +then not stay plain. I tell you this because I can see that you are +just like your mom was, you like pretty things so much. She came in the +Church with some girls she knew; none of her people were plain. I knew +her right after she joined, and I took her to Love Feasts and to +Meetings and we were soon promised to marry each other. I saw that +something was troubling her and she told me that she wanted pretty +clothes again and wanted to go to parties and picnics like some of the +other girls she knew. But because she cared for me and was promised to +me she kept on dressing plain. So we were married. The second year you +came and then she was satisfied without pretty dresses. She said to me +once, 'Jacob, I was foolish to fret about pretty clothes and jewelry, +they could not bring happiness, but this'--she looked down at you--'this +is the most precious, most beautiful jewel any woman could have.' I knew +then that the love of vanity was gone from her, that she would never be +tempted to go back to the dress and ways of the world." + +For a moment there was silence in the big room. The memory of the days +when the home circle was unbroken left the father quiet and thoughtful +and strangely touched Phoebe. + +"I am glad you told me, daddy," she said presently. "To-day when Phares +talked about the baptizing he seemed so confident and at peace in his +religion, yet I could not promise to come into the Church and wear the +plain dress. I am going to think about it----" + +Here Aunt Maria called loudly, "Phoebe, come out here once." + +Phoebe sighed, then turned from her father and entered the kitchen. The +older woman was bending over an oblong frame and by the aid of a small +steel hook was pulling tufts of cloth through the mesh of a piece of +burlap, the foundation of a hooked rug. + +"See once, Phoebe, won't this be pretty till it's done?" + +"Yes, very pretty. I like the Wall of Troy design you are using, and the +blues and gray will be a good combination. What are you going to do with +it?" + +"It's for your chest." + +The girl laughed. "Aunt Maria, you'll have to enlarge that chest or buy +a second one. This spring when we cleaned house and had all the things +of that chest hung out to air, I counted eleven quilts, six rugs, five +table-cloths, ten gingham aprons, ever so many towels, besides all the +old homespun linen I have in that other chest on the garret. I'll never +need all that." + +"Why, you don't know. If you marry----" + +"But if I don't marry?" + +"Ach, I guess old maids need covers and aprons and things as well as +them that marry. But now I guess I'll stop for to-night. I want to sew +the hooks 'n' eyes on my every-day dress yet before I go to bed." + +"But before you go I want to ask you, to talk with you and daddy," said +Phoebe, determined to decide the matter of studying music in +Philadelphia. The uncertainty of it was growing to be a strain upon her. +If there was no possibility of her dreams becoming realities she would +put the thoughts away from her, but she wanted the question settled. + +"Now what----" Aunt Maria raised her spectacles to her forehead and +looked at the girl, at her flushed cheeks, her eyes darkened by +excitement. + +"So," the woman chuckled, "Phares picked up spunk once and asked +you----" + +"Phares has nothing to do with it," Phoebe said curtly, her cheeks +flushing deeper at the thought of the words she knew her aunt was ready +to say. "This is my affair, and, of course, yours and daddy's." She +turned to her father--"I want to study music." + +"Music? How--you mean to learn to play the organ?" he asked. + +"No. Oh, no! I mean to sing. Listen, please," she pleaded as she saw the +bewildered look on his face. "You know I have always liked to sing. I +have told you that many people have said my voice is good. So I'd like +to go to Philadelphia and take lessons from a good teacher. May I? I can +use the money I have in the bank, that my mother left me. I have about a +thousand dollars. It won't take all of that for a few years' lessons. +Daddy, if you'll only say I may go!" Her voice wavered suspiciously at +the end. + +Jacob Metz looked at his daughter, then at the little low organ in the +other room. Another Phoebe had loved to sit at that instrument and +sing--perhaps he was too easy with the girl--but if she wanted to go +away and take lessons---- + +Before he could answer the plea Maria Metz found her voice and spoke +authoritatively: + +"Jacob Metz, goodness knows you're sometimes dumb enough to do foolish +things, but you surely ain't goin' to leave Phoebe go off to learn +singing! Throwing away money like that! And what good is to come of it, +I'd like to know. Who put that dumb notion in her head, it just now +vonders me! If she must go away somewheres to school, like all the young +ones think they must nowadays, why not leave her go to Millersville or +to Elizabethtown or to Lancaster to learn dressmakin'? But to +Philadelphy--why, that's a big city! Anyhow, I can't see the use of all +this flyin' around to school. We didn't get it when we was young, and we +growed up, too. We was lucky if we got to the country school regular, +and we got through the world so far!" + +"But Maria," her brother spoke gently, "you know things have changed +since we went to school. The world don't stay the same." + +"But to learn music!" she placed a scornful accent on the last word. +"What good will that do? And can't any one in Greenwald or Lancaster, +even, learn her to sing? Anyhow, she don't need no lessons, she hollers +too loud already. If she takes lessons yet what'll she do?" + +"Oh, Aunt Maria," Phoebe said impatiently, "you don't understand! If my +voice is worth training it is worth having a good teacher. A city like +Philadelphia is the place to go to." + +"But where would you stay down there? Mebbe you couldn't get a place +with nice people. Abody don't know what kinda people live in a city." + +"I've thought of that. I wrote to Miss Lee last week and asked her and +she wrote back and said it would be a splendid thing for me. She offered +to help me find a boarding place. I could see her often and would not be +alone among strangers. Best of all, Miss Lee has a cousin who plays the +violin and who lives with her and her mother and he will help me find a +good teacher. Isn't that lovely?" + +"Omph," sniffed Aunt Maria. "It'll cost you a lot of money for board, +mebbe as much as four dollars a week! And your lessons will be a lot, +and your car fare back and forth. Then I guess you'd want a lot more +dresses and things--ach, you just put that dumb notion from your head." + +"Maria," Phoebe's father spoke in significantly even tones, "you needn't +talk like that. Phoebe has the money her mom left her and I guess I +could send her to school if I wanted to. It won't hurt her to go study +music and see something of the world. It'll do her good to get away once +like other girls." + +"Do her good," echoed Aunt Maria. "Jacob Metz! You know little of the +dangers of the big cities! But then, men ain't got no sense! I never met +one yet that had enough to fill a thimble!" + +"Aunt Maria," the girl said gently, "I'm not a child. I'm eighteen and +I'll be near Miss Lee and her friends." + +"And the fiddler," added the woman tartly. + +"Ach," Phoebe laughed. "Miss Lee will take care of me." + +"Mebbe so," grumbled Aunt Maria. + +"Now look here, Maria," Jacob spoke up, "Phoebe can go this fall once +and try it and she can come home often and if she don't like it she can +come home right away. It takes only three hours to go to there. So, +Phoebe, you write to Miss Lee and tell her to expect you." + +"Then I may go!" She threw her arms about her father's neck and kissed +his bearded face. Demonstrations of affection were rare in the Metz +household, but the father smiled as he stroked the girl's hair. + +"You be a good girl, Phoebe, that's all I want," he said. + +"I will, daddy, I will!" + +"Then, Maria, you take Phoebe to Lancaster and get things ready so she +can go in September. I'll let her take that thousand she has in the +bank, but that must reach; it's enough for music lessons." + +"I won't need all of it. What's left I'll save for next year." + +"Next year! How many years must you go?" demanded Aunt Maria, still +unhappy and sore. + +"I don't know. But when the thousand is gone I'll earn more if I want to +spend more." + +"Ach, my," groaned the woman, "you talk like money grew on trees! What's +the world comin' to nowadays?" She rose and pushed her rugging frame +into a corner of the kitchen. + +"Maria," her brother suggested, "we can get a hired girl if the work's +too much for you alone." + +"Hired girl! I don't want no hired girl! Half of 'em don't do to suit, +anyhow! I don't just want Phoebe here to help to work. It'll be awful +lonesome with her gone." + +Phoebe saw the glint of anguish in the dark eyes and felt that her +aunt's protestations were partly due to a disinclination to be parted +from the child she had reared. + +"Aunt Maria," she said kindly, "I hate to do what you think I shouldn't +do, for you're good to me. You mustn't feel that I'm doing this just to +be contrary. You and I think differently, that's all. Perhaps I'm too +young to always think right, but I don't want you to be hurt. I'll come +home often." + +"Ach, yes well," the woman was touched by the girl's tenderness, but was +still unconvinced. "Not much use my saying more, I guess. You and your +pop will do what you like. You're a Metz, too, and hard to change when +you make up your mind once." + +That night when Phoebe went to bed in her old-fashioned walnut bed she +lay awake for hours, dreaming of the future. If Aunt Maria had known the +visions that flitted before the girl that night she would have quaked in +apprehension, for Phoebe finally drifted into slumber on clouds of +glory, forecasts of the wonderful time when, as a prima donna in +trailing, shimmering gown, she would have the world at her feet while +she sang, sang, sang! + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +THE PREACHER'S WOOING + + +THERE belonged to the Metz farm an old stone quarry which Phoebe learned +to love in early childhood and which, as she grew older, she adopted as +her refuge and dreaming-place. + +Almost directly opposite the green gate at the country road was a narrow +lane which led to the quarry. It was bordered on the right by a thickly +interlaced hedge of blackberry bushes and wild honeysuckle, beyond which +stood the orchard of the Metz farm. On the left of the lane a wide field +sloped up along the road leading to the summit of the hill where the +schoolhouse and the meeting-house stood. The lane was always inviting. +It was the fair road to a fairer spot, the old stone quarry. + +The old stone quarry banked its rugged height against the side of a +great wooded hill. Some twenty feet below the level of the lane was a +huge semicircular base, and from this the jagged sides reared +perpendicularly to the summit of the hill. The top and slopes of this +hill were covered with a dense growth of underbrush and trees. Tall +sycamores bordered the road opposite the quarry, making the spot +sheltered and secluded. + +To this place Phoebe hurried the morning after she had gained her +father's consent to go to Philadelphia. + +"I just had to come here," she breathed rapturously; "the house is too +narrow, the garden too small, this June morning. They won't hold my +dreams." + +She stood under the giant sycamore opposite the quarry and looked +appreciatively about her. Earth's warm, throbbing bosom thrilled with +the universal joy of parentage and fruition. Shafts of sunlight shot +through the green of the trees, odors of wild flowers mingled with the +fresh, woodsy fragrance of the fields and woods, song sparrows flitted +busily among the hedges and sang their delicious, "Maids, maids, maids, +hang on your tea kettle-ettle-ettle!" From the densest portions of the +woods above the quarry a thrush sang--all nature seemed atune with +Phoebe's mood, blithe, happy, joyous! + +Phares Eby, going to town that morning, walked slowly as he neared the +Metz farm and looked for a glimpse of Phoebe. He saw, instead, the +portly figure of Aunt Maria as she walked about her garden to see the +progress of her early June peas. + +"Why, Phares," she called, "you goin' to Greenwald?" + +"Yes. Anything I can do for you?" + +"Ach no. Phoebe was in the other day. But come in once, Phares, I'll +tell you something about her." + +"Where is Phoebe?" he asked as he joined Aunt Maria in the garden. + +"Over at the quarry again. But I must tell you, she's goin' to +Phildelphy to study singin'. She asked her pop and he said she dare." + +"Philadelphia--singing!" + +"Yes. I don't like it at all, but she's goin' just the same." + +"It is a mistake to let her go," said the preacher. "It's a big mistake, +Aunt Maria. She should stay at home or go to some school and learn +something of value to her. In this quiet place she has never heard of +many temptations which, in the city, she must meet face to face. It is +the voice of the Tempter urging her to do this thing and we who are her +friends should persuade her to remain in her good home and near the +friends who care for her. Have you thought, Aunt Maria, that the people +to whom she will go may dance and play cards and do many worldly things? +Philadelphia is very different from Greenwald. Why, she may learn to +indulge in worldly amusements and to love the vanities of the world +which we have tried to teach her to avoid! She will be like a bird in a +strange nest." + +"I know, Phares, but I can't make it different. When Jacob says a thing +once it's hard to change him, and she is like that too. They fixed it up +last night and I had no say at all. All I said against her going did as +much good as if I said it to the chairs in the kitchen. Phoebe is going +to get Miss Lee, the one that was teacher on the hill once, to help her. +And Miss Lee has a cousin that lives with her and he plays the fiddle +and he is goin' to get a teacher for her." + +Phares Eby groaned and gritted his teeth. + +"I guess I'll go talk with her a while," he decided. + +"Mebbe she'll come in soon, if you want to wait. I told her to bring me +some pennyroyal along from the field next the quarry. You know that's so +good for them little red ants, and they got into my jelly cupboard. She +went a while ago and I guess she'll soon be back now." + +"I think I'll walk over." + +"All right, Phares. Tell her not to forget the pennyroyal." + +With long strides the preacher crossed the road and started up the lane +to the quarry. There he slackened his pace--he thought of the previous +day when he had asked Phoebe about entering the Church. She had +disappointed him, it was true, but she had seemed so eager to do right, +so innocent and childlike, that the interview had not left him wholly +unhappy or greatly discouraged. He had hoped last night that she would +give the matter of her soul's salvation serious thought, that she would +soon stand in the stream and be baptized by him. Over sanguine he had +been--so soon she had forgotten serious things and planned a winter in +Philadelphia studying music. + +"I must act," he thought. "I must tell her of my love. All these years I +have loved her and kept silent about it because I thought she was just a +child. But I must tell her now. If she loves me she shall marry me soon +and this great temptation will leave her; she will hearken to the voice +of her conscience, and we will begin our life of happiness together." + +With this resolution strong within him he went up the lane to the quarry +and Phoebe. + +She was seated on a rock under the giant sycamore and leaned confidingly +against the shaggy trunk. The glaring sunshine that fell upon the fields +and hills could not wholly penetrate the protecting canopy of +well-proportioned sycamore leaves; only a few quivering rays fell upon +the girl's upturned face. + +As the preacher approached she looked around quickly but did not move +from her caressing attitude by the tree. + +"Good-morning, Phares. I'm glad you came. I was wishing for some one to +share the old quarry with me this morning." + +"Aunt Maria told me you were here--she is impatient for her pennyroyal." +Now, that the supreme moment had arrived, he hesitated and grasped at +the first straw for conversation. + +"Oh, dear," she said childishly, "Aunt Maria expects me to remember ants +and pennyroyal when I come here. Phares, I can't explain it, but this +old quarry has a strange fascination for me. The beauty in its +variegated stone with the sunlight upon it attracts me. Sometimes I am +tempted to climb up the hill and hang over the quarry and look down into +the heart of it." + +"Don't ever do that!" cried the preacher. + +"I won't," laughed Phoebe. "I don't want to die just yet. But isn't it +the loveliest place! I come here often when the men are not blasting. It +seems almost a desecration to blast these rocks when we think how long +nature took in their making." + +She paused . . . only the sounds of nature invaded the quiet of the +place: the drowsy hum of diligent bees, the cattle browsing in a field +near by, the ecstatic trill of a bird. The world of bustle and flurry +with its seething vats of evil and corruption, its sordid discontent and +petulance, its ways of pain and darkness, seemed far removed from that +place of peace and calm solitude. Phoebe could not bear to think that +across the seas men were lying in the filth of water-soaked trenches, +agonizing and bleeding on the battlefields and suffering nameless +tortures in hospitals that a peace like unto the peace of her quiet +haven might brood undisturbed over the world in future generations. She +dismissed the harrowing thought of war--she would enjoy the calm of her +quarry. + +The preacher had listened silently to the girl's rhapsodies--she +suddenly awakened to the realization that he was paying scant attention +to her enthusiastic words. She looked at him, her heart-beats quickened, +some intuition warned her of the imminent declaration. + +She rose quickly from the embrace of the sycamore tree, but the +compelling eyes of the preacher restrained her from flight. She stood +before him, within reach of his hands. + +His first words reassured her somewhat: "Phoebe, your aunt has told me +that you are going to Philadelphia to study music." + +"Yes. Isn't it fine! I'm so happy----" she stopped. Displeasure was +written plainly upon his countenance. "Don't you think it's all right, +Phares?" + +"I think it is a great mistake," he said gravely. "Why not spend your +time on something of value to yourself and your friends and the world in +general?" + +"But music is of great value. Why, the world needs it as it needs +sunshine!" + +"But, Phoebe, you must remember you do not come of a people who stand +before the worldly and lift their voices for the joy of the multitude of +curious people. Your voice is right as it is and needs no training. It +is as God gave it to you and is made to be used in His service, in His +Church and your home." + +"But I have always wanted to learn to sing well, really well. So I am +going to Philadelphia this winter and take lessons from a competent +teacher." + +"Phoebe," exhorted the preacher, "put away the temptation before it +grips you so strongly that you cannot shake it off. You must not go!" + +He spoke the last words in a tone of authority which the girl answered, +"Phares, let us speak of something else. You know I have some of the +Metz determination in my make-up and I can't be easily forced to give up +a cherished plan. At any rate, we must not quarrel about it." + +The preacher forbore to try further argument or persuasion. He became +grave. His habitual serenity of mind was disturbed by shadowy +forebodings--when the pebbles of doubt drop into the placid pool of +content it invariably follows that the waters become agitated for a +time. Hitherto he had been hopeful of winning Phoebe. Had he not known +her and loved her all her life! What was more natural than that their +friendship should culminate in a deeper feeling! + +He stretched out his hand in a sudden rush of feeling--"Phoebe, I love +you." + +She stepped back a pace and his hand fell to his side. + +"Don't, Phares," she began, but the next moment she realized that she +could not turn aside his love without listening to him. + +"Phoebe, you must listen--I love you, I have loved you all my life. +Can't you say that you care for me?" + +"Don't ask me that!" she pleaded. "I don't want to marry anybody now. +All my life I have dreamed of going to a city and studying music and I +can't let the opportunity slip away from me now when it is so near. To +work under the direction of a master teacher has long been one of my +dearest dreams." + +"You mean that you do not love me, then. Or if you do, that you would +rather gratify your desire to study music than marry me--which is it?" + +"Ach, Phares, don't make it hard for me! I said I don't want to get +married now. All my life I have lived on a farm and have thought that I +should be wonderfully happy if I could get away from it for a while and +know what it is to live in a big city. There I shall have a chance to +see life in its broader aspects. I shall not be harmed by gathering new +ideas and ideals, gaining new friends, and, above all, learning to sing +well." + +The man groaned in spirit. It was evident that she was thoroughly +determined to go away from the farm. + +"Phoebe," he pleaded again, not entirely for his own selfish desire, but +worried about her love of worldliness, "do you know that the things for +which you are going to the city are really not important, that all +outward acquisitions for which you long now are transient? The things +that count are goodness and purity and to be without them is to be +pauperized; the things that bring happiness are love and home ties and +to be without them is to be desolate. You want a larger, broader vision, +but the city cannot always give you that." + +There was no bitterness in his voice, only an undertone of sadness as he +spoke. "Phoebe, tell me plainly, do you care for me?" + +Her face was lamentably pathetic as she looked into his and read there +the desire for what she could not give. "Not as you wish," she said +softly. "But I don't really know what love is yet, I haven't thought +about it except as something that will come to me some day, a long time +from now. There are too many other things I must think about now. When I +am through studying music I'll think about being married." + +The preacher shook his head; his heart was too heavy for more words, +more futile words. + +"Let us go, Phares," she said, the silence becoming intolerable. + +"Yes," he agreed. "And Phoebe," he added as they turned away from the +quarry, "I hope you'll learn your lesson quickly and come back to us." + +They stepped from the sheltered path into the sunshine of the lane. Long +trails of green lay in their path as they went, but the eyes of both +were temporarily blinded to the loveliness of the June. When they +reached the dusty road the preacher said good-bye and went on his way to +the town. + +She stood where he left her; the suppressed feelings of the past half +hour soon struggled to avenge themselves and she sped down the lane +again, back to the refuge of the kindly tree, and there, under her +sycamore, burst into passionate weeping. + +Some time after Phares left the girl at the end of the lane David Eby +came swinging down the hill and entered the Metz kitchen. + +"Hello, Aunt Maria. Where's Phoebe?" + +"Why, I guess over at the quarry. She went for pennyroyal long ago and +then Phares came and he went over after her, but I saw him go on the way +to town a bit ago, so I guess she's still over there. Guess she's +stumbling around after a bird's nest or picking some weeds that ain't no +good. I don't see why she stays so long." + +"I'll go see," volunteered David. + +"Yes well. And tell her to hurry with that pennyroyal. I want it for red +ants, but they can carry away the whole jelly cupboard till she gets +here." + +"I'll tell her," said David, and went off, whistling. + +Phoebe's paroxysm of grief was short-lived. The soothing quiet of the +quarry calmed her, but her eyes showed telltale marks of tears as +David's steps sounded down the lane. + +She rose hastily, then sank back to her seat under the tree as she saw +the identity of the intruder. + +"Whew, Phoebe Metz," he said and whistled in his old, boyish way as he +sat beside her, "you're crying!" + +"I am not," she declared. + +"Then you just have been! I haven't seen you in tears for many years. +Phoebe"--he changed his tone--"what's gone wrong? Anything the matter?" + +"Don't," she sniffed, "don't ask me or you'll have me at it again." She +steadied her voice and went on, "I came over here so gloriously happy I +could have shouted, because daddy said last night that I may go to +Philadelphia this fall----" + +"Gee whiz!" David grabbed her hand. "Why, I'm tickled to death. But +what--why are you crying? Isn't that what you want?" + +"Yes." She smiled, pleased by his interest and eagerness. "But just as I +was happiest along came Phares and told me it was wicked to go. It's all +a mistake to go, he said." + +"Ach, the dickens with the old fossil!" David cried. "And I'm not going +to take that back or be sorry for saying it. Hadn't he better sense than +to throw a wet blanket on all your happiness!" + +"Perhaps I needed it. I was just about burning up with gladness." + +"Well, don't you care what he's thinking about it. You go learn music if +you want to and your father lets you go. Did he see you cry?" + +"Certainly not! I wouldn't cry before him. He would say that was +foolish or wicked or something it shouldn't be. But you--you are so +sensible I don't mind if you do see me with my eyes red." + +"Ha, ha, that's a compliment. I have been told that I am happy-go-lucky +and sort of a cheerful idiot, but no person ever told me that I'm +sensible. Well, don't you forget me when you get to be that prima +donna." + +"I won't. You and Mother Bab rub me the right way." + +"But won't she be glad when I tell her," said David. "I came down to see +if you had decided about it, and I find it all arranged." + +"And me in tears," added Phoebe, her natural poise and good humor again +restored. "Tell Mother Bab I am coming up soon to tell her about it." + +So, in happier mood, she walked beside David, down the green lane to the +road, across the road to her own gate. + +"So you come once!" Aunt Maria greeted her. + +"Oh, I forgot your pennyroyal! I'll go get it." + +"Never mind. You stayed so long I went over to the field near the barn +and got some. But you look like you've been cryin', Phoebe. Did you and +Phares have a fall-out?" + +"No." + +"You and David, then?" + +"No--please don't ask me--it's nothing." + +"Well, there ain't no man in shoe leather worth cryin' about, I can tell +you that. They just laugh at your cryin'." + +Phoebe smiled at her aunt's philosophy and resolved to forget the +discouraging words of the preacher. She would be happy in spite of +him--the future held bright hours for her! + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +THE SCARLET TANAGER + + +THE days that followed were busy days at the gray farmhouse. Phoebe was +soon deep in the preparations for her stay in the city. Her meagre +wardrobe required replenishment; she wanted to go to Philadelphia with +an outfit of which Miss Lee would not be ashamed. Much to her aunt's +surprise the girl selected one-piece dresses of blue serge with sheer +white collars for every-day wear in cold weather; a few white linens for +warm days; and these, with her blue serge suit, her simple white +graduation dress, and a plain dark silk dress, were the main articles of +her outfit. Aunt Maria expressed her relief and wonder at the girl's +choice--"Well, it wonders me that you don't want a lot of ugly fancy +things to go to Phildelphy. Those dresses all made in one are sensible +once. I guess the style makers tried all the outlandish styles they +could think of and had to make a nice style once." + +But when Phoebe purchased a piece of long-cloth and began to make +undergarments, beautifying them by sprays of hand embroidery, Aunt Maria +scoffed, "Umph, I'd be ashamed to put snake-doctors on my petticoats." + +The girl laughed. "They aren't snake-doctors, they are butterflies," she +said. + +"Not much difference--both got wings. I don't see what for you want to +waste time like that." + +"It makes them prettier, and I like pretty things." + +"Ach, you have dumb notions sometimes. I guess we better make your other +dresses soon, then you won't have time for sewing snake-doctors or +butterflies. You better get your silk dress made in Greenwald, it's so +soft and slippery that I ain't going to bother my old fingers makin' it. +Granny Hogendobler wants to come out and help to sew, and David's mom +said she'll come down and help us cut and fit the serge dresses. She's +real handy like that. If those dresses look as nice on you as they do on +the pictures they will be all right. Granny and Barb dare just come and +both help with your things--they both think it's so fine for you to go +to the city! Granny Hogendobler spoiled her Nason by givin' him just +what he wanted, and now what has she got for it? And I guess Barb is +easy with that big boy of hers. Mebbe if she was a little stricter he'd +be in the Church like Phares is, though David is a nice boy and I guess +he don't give his mom any trouble." + +"I just love Mother Bab; don't you say such things about her!" Phoebe +exclaimed, her eyes flashing. + +"Why, I like her too," the woman said. She looked at Phoebe in surprise. +"You needn't be so touchy. For goodness' sake, don't take to gettin' +touchy like some people are! Handling them's like tryin' to plane over a +knot in wood; any way you push the plane is the wrong way. This here +going to Philadelphy upsets you, I guess. You're gettin' as touchy as +the little touch-me-nots we get on the hill; they all snap shut when +you touch 'em--only you snap open." + +Phoebe laughed. "I guess I am excited," she admitted. "I'm sewing too +much for summer days and it makes me irritable. I think I'll let the +butterflies wait and I'll go outdoors. Shall I weed the garden?" + +"Weed the garden? Now you're talkin' dumb! Don't you know yet that abody +don't weed a garden on Fridays? Ours always gets done on Monday. But if +you want to get out you dare take some of the sand-tarts I baked +yesterday up to David's mom, she likes them so much. And you ask her if +she can come down next week to help with the dresses. But don't stay too +long, for it's been so hot all day and I think it's goin' to storm yet." + +"Don't worry about me if it rains. I won't start for home if it looks +threatening. I'll wait till the storm is over." + +Aunt Maria filled a basket with her delectable cookies and the girl +started up the hill. It was, indeed, a hot day, even for August. Phoebe +paused several times in the shelter of overhanging trees as she plodded +up the steep road. On the summit she climbed the rail fence and perched +in the cool shade for a little while and looked out over the valley +where the town of Greenwald lay. + +"It's lovely here, and I'm wondering how I can be happy when I know that +I am going to leave it soon and go to the city for a long winter away +from my home. But there's a voice calling to me from the great outside +world and I won't be satisfied until I go and mingle with the multitude +of a great city. It is life, life, that I want to see and know. And yet, +I'm glad I'll have this to come back to! It gives me a comfortable +feeling to know that this is waiting for me, no matter where I go--this +is still my home. Sometimes I wonder if Aunt Maria could possibly be +speaking wisely when she says it is all a waste of money to run off to +the city and study music. But what is there on the farm to attract me? I +don't want to marry yet"--the remembrance of Phares Eby's pleading came +to her--"and if I do marry some time, it won't be Phares. No, never +Phares! Ach, Phoebe Metz, you don't know what you want!" she said to +herself as she jumped from the fence and ran down the road to the Eby +farm. + +At the gate she paused. Mother Bab stood among her flowers, her +white-capped head bare of any other covering, the hot sunshine streaming +upon her. + +"Mother Bab," she cried, "you are simply baking in the sun!" + +"No," the woman turned to Phoebe and smiled. "I'm forgetting it's hot +while I look at the flowers. You see, Phoebe, I was in the house sewing +and trying to keep cool and all of a sudden my eyes grew dim so I +couldn't sew. The fear came to me, the fear that my sight is going, +though I try not to strain them at all and never sew at night. Well, I +just ran out here and began to look and look at my flowers--if I ever do +go blind I'm going to have lots of memories of lovely things I've seen." + +Phoebe drew Mother Bab's face to her and kissed it. "You just mustn't +get blind! It would be too dreadful. There are many clever specialists +in the city these days. Surely, there is some doctor who can help you." + +"They all say there is little to be done in a case like mine. But, let's +forget it; I can see and we'll keep on hoping it will last. I went to a +doctor at Lancaster some time ago and I'm going to give him a fair +trial. I guess it'll come out right." + +Phoebe brightened again at the woman's words of contagious cheer and +hope. + +"Isn't the garden pretty?" asked Mother Bab as they looked about it. + +"Perfect! Those zinnias are lovely." + +"Yes, I like them. But I like their other name better--Youth and Old +Age, my mother used to call them. She used to say that they are not like +other flowers, more like people, for the buds open into tiny flowers and +those tiny flowers grow and develop until they are large and perfect. I +would think something fine were missing in my garden if I didn't have my +Youth and Old Age every year. But you will be too hot in this sun; shall +we go in?" + +"No, please, not until I have seen the flowers. I need to gather +precious memories, too, to take with me to Philadelphia. Oh, I like +this"--she knelt in the narrow path and buried her face in fragrant +lemon verbena plants. + +"I like that, too. Mother used to call it Joy Everlasting. We always put +it in our bureau drawers between the linens. David likes lavender +better, so I use that now." + +"How you spoil him," said Phoebe. + +"You think so?" asked the mother gently. + +Phoebe smiled in retraction of her statement. "We'll both be parboiled +if we stay out here any longer," she said as she linked her arm into +Mother Bab's. "Aunt Maria sent you some sand-tarts." + +"Isn't she good!" + +"Yes, but"--the blue eyes twinkled mischievously--"they are just a +bribe. We want you to come down and help us with the dresses some day +next week. You are not to sew, but if you are there to tell about the +fit of them I'll feel better satisfied. Whew! If it's as hot as this +I'll have a lovely time fitting woolen dresses!" + +"You won't mind." + +"I don't believe I shall, so long as the dresses are to be worn in +Philadelphia. Granny Hogendobler is coming out, too. Will you come?" + +"I'll be glad to. David can eat his dinner at his aunt's." + +They entered the house and sat in the sitting-room, a room dear to both +because of its association with many happy hours. + +"I love this room," Phoebe said. "This must be one of my pleasant +memories when I go." + +"I like it better than any other room in the house," said Mother Bab. "I +suppose it's because the old clock and the haircloth sofa are in it. +Why, Davie used to slide down the ends of that sofa and call it his boat +when he was just a little fellow. And that old clock"--her voice sank to +the tenderness of musing retrospect--"why, Davie's father set it up the +day we were married and came here and set up housekeeping and it's been +ticking ever since. Davie used to say 'tick-tock' when he heard it, when +he first learned to talk. I like that old clock most as much as if it +were something alive. A man who comes around here to buy antique +furniture came in one day and offered to buy it. I'll never forget how +David told him it wasn't for sale. The very thought of selling the old +clock made Davie cross." + +"Davie cross! How could he keep the twinkle out of his eyes long enough +to be cross?" + +"Ach, it don't last long when he gets cross." + +"Where is he now, Mother Bab?" + +"Working in the tobacco field." + +"In the hot sun!" + +"He says he don't mind it. He's so pleased with the tobacco this summer. +It looks fine. If the hail don't get in it now it'll bring about four +hundred dollars, he thinks. That will be the most he has ever gotten out +of it. But tobacco is an awful risk. If the weather is just so it pays +about the best of anything around this part of the country, I guess, but +so often the poor farmers work hard in the tobacco fields and then the +hail comes along and all is spoiled. But ours is fine so far." + +"I'm glad. David has been working hard all summer with it." + +"Sometimes he gets discouraged; Phares's crops always seem to do better +than David's, yet David works just as hard. But Phares plants no +tobacco." + +At that moment Phares Eby himself came into the room where the two sat. +He appeared a trifle embarrassed when he saw Phoebe. Since the June +meeting under the sycamore tree by the old stone quarry he had made no +special effort to see her, and the several times they had met in that +time he had greeted her with marked restraint. + +"Good-afternoon," he murmured, looking from Phoebe to Mother Bab and +back again to Phoebe. "I didn't know you were here, Phoebe. I--Aunt +Barbara, I came in to tell you there's a bright red bird in the woods +down by the cornfield." + +"There is!" cried Phoebe with much interest. "Is it all red, or has it +black wings and tail?" + +"Why, I couldn't say. I know David and Aunt Barbara are always +interested in birds and I heard David say the other day that he hadn't +seen a red bird this summer, that they must be getting scarce around +this section. So I thought I'd come up and tell you about it. I know it +is bright red. Do you want to come out and try to find it again, Aunt +Barbara?" + +"Not now, Phares. I have been in the sun so much to-day that my head +aches." + +"Would you care to see it?" he asked Phoebe in visible hesitation. + +She answered eagerly, her passionate love of birds mastering her +embarrassment. "I'd love to, Phares! I am anxious to see whether it's a +tanager or a cardinal. I have never seen a cardinal." + +South of David Eby's cornfield stretched a strip of woodland. There +blackberry brambles tangled about the bases of great oaks and the +entire woods--trees and brambles--made an ideal nesting-place for birds. + +"Perhaps it's gone," said the preacher as they went along to the woods. + +"But it's worth trying for," she said. + +They kept silent then; only the rustling of the corn was heard as the +two went through the green aisle. When they reached the woodland a +sudden burst of glorious melody came to them. Phoebe laid a hand +impulsively upon the arm of the preacher, but she removed it quite as +suddenly when he looked down at her and said, "Our bird!" + +The bird, a scarlet tanager, aware of the presence of the intruders and +eager to attract attention to himself and safeguard his hidden mate, +flew to an exposed branch of an oak tree. There he displayed his +gorgeous, flaming scarlet body with its touch of black in wings and +tail. + +"It's a tanager," said Phoebe. "Isn't he lovely!" + +"Very fine," said the preacher. "What color is his mate? Is she red?" + +"She's green, a lovely olive green. When she sits on the nest she's just +the color of her surroundings. If she were red like her mate she'd be +too easily destroyed." + +"God's providence," said the preacher. + +"It is wonderful--look, Phares, there he goes!" + +The scarlet tanager made a streak of vivid color across the sky as he +flew off over the corn. + +"I wonder if he trusts us or if his mate is not about," Phoebe said. +"He's a beauty, so is his mate in her green frock. A few minutes with +the birds can teach us a great deal, can't it?" + +"Yes, Phoebe, here, right near your home, are countless lessons to be +learned and accomplishments to be acquired. Tell me, do you still wish +to go away to the city?" + +"Certainly. I am going in September." + +"You remember the verse in the Third Reader we used to have at school: + + "'Stay, stay at home, my heart and rest; + Home-keeping hearts are happiest. + For those who wander, they know not where, + Are full of trouble and full of care; + To stay at home is best.'" + +"But I have ambitions, Phares. All my eighteen years of life have been +spent on a farm, in the narrow existence of those whose days are passed +within one little circle. I want to see things, I want to meet people, I +want to live, I want to learn to sing--I can't do any of these things +here. Oh, you can't understand my real sincerity in this desire to get +away. It is not that I love my home and my people less than you love +yours. I feel that I must get away!" + +"But your voice, Phoebe, like the scarlet tanager's, is right as God +made it. Because we are such old friends it grieves me to see you go. I +was hoping you would change your mind--there is so much vanity and evil +in the city." + +"I'll try to keep from it, Phares. I shall merely learn to sing better, +meet a few new people, and be wiser because of the experience." + +"It is useless to try to persuade you, I suppose. I hoped you would +reconsider it, that you would learn to care for me as I care." + +"Phares, don't. You make me unhappy." + +"Misery loves company," he quoted, trying to smile. + +"But can't you see that marriage is the thing I am thinking least about +these days? I am too young." + +She looked, indeed, like a fair representation of Youth as she stood by +the crude rail fence at the edge of the woods, one arm flung along the +rough top rail, her hair tumbled from the walk through the cornfield, +her eyes still gleaming with the joy of seeing the tanager, yet shadowy +with the startled emotions occasioned by the preacher's wooing. + +He looked at her-- + +"Oh, look! Our tanager is back!" she exclaimed. + +"I guess she is too young," he thought as he saw how quickly she turned +from the question of marriage to watch the red bird. + +Phoebe's lips parted in pleasure as she saw the tanager again take up +his place on the oak and burst into song. So absorbed were man and maid +that neither heard the rustle of parted corn nor were aware of the +presence of a third person until a voice exclaimed, "Oh, I beg your +pardon. I didn't know you were here." + +As they turned David Eby stood before them, his expression a mingling of +surprise and wonder. The flush on Phoebe's face, the awakened look in +her eyes, troubled the man who had come through the corn and found the +girl he loved standing with the preacher. The self-conscious look on +the preacher's face assured David that he had stumbled through the field +in an awkward moment, that his presence was unwelcome. He turned to go +back, but Phoebe stepped quickly to him and took his hand. + +"Ah," thought Phares with a twinge of jealousy, "she wouldn't do that to +me. How quickly she dropped her hand a while ago. They are such good +friends, she and David. It's wrong to be envious; I must fight against +it--and yet--I want her just as much as David does!" + +"David," Phoebe begged, "come back! Why, I was just wishing you were +here! There's a scarlet tanager--see!" She pointed to the brilliant +songster. + +"I thought he was coming to this woods so I came to hunt him," said +David, his irritation gone. "I saw that fellow over by the tobacco field +and followed him here. I bet they have their nest in this very woods. +We'll look better next spring and try to find it and see the little +ones. Tut, tut," he whistled to the bird, "don't sing your pretty head +off." His eyes turned to the sky and the smile left his face. "It looks +threatening," he said. "I thought I heard thunder as I came through the +corn." + +"That so?" said Phares. "Then we better move in." + +Even as they turned and started through the field the thunder came +again--distant--nearer, rolling in ominous rumbles. + +"Look at the sky," said David. "Clear yellow--that means hail!" + +"Oh, David"--Phoebe stood still and looked at him--"not hail on your +tobacco!" + +He took her arm. "Come on, Phoebe, it's coming fast. We must get in. +Come to our house, Phares, that's the nearest." + +Just as they reached the kitchen door, where Mother Bab was looking for +them, the hail came. + +"It's hail, Mommie," David said. The three words held all the worry and +pain of his heart. + +"Never mind"--the little mother patted his shoulder. "It's hail for more +people than we know, perhaps for some who are much poorer than we are." + +"But the tobacco----" He stood by the window, impotent and weak, while +the devastating hail pounded and rattled and smote the broad leaves of +his tobacco and rendered it almost worthless. + +"Won't new leaves grow again?" Phoebe tried to cheer him. + +"Not this late in the summer. My tobacco was almost ready to be cut; it +was unusually early this year." + +"Well," spoke up the preacher, "I can't see why you always plant +tobacco. Smoking and chewing tobacco are filthy habits. I can't see why +so many people of this section plant the weed when the soil could be +used to produce some useful grain or vegetable." + +"Yes"--David turned and addressed his cousin fiercely--"it's easy enough +for you to talk! You with your big farm and orchards and every crop a +success! Your bank account is so fat that you don't need to care whether +your acres bring in a big return or a lean one. But when you have just a +few acres you plant the thing that will be likely to bring in the most +money. You know many poor people plant tobacco for that reason, and that +is why I plant it." + +"Davie," the mother said, "Davie!" + +"I know," he said bitterly. "I'm a beast when my temper gets beyond +control, but Phares can be so confounded irritating, he rubs salt in +your cuts every time." + +"Just for healing," the mother said gently. + +"David," said Phoebe, "I guess the temper is a little bit of that Irish +showing up." + +At that David smiled, then laughed. + +"Phoebe," he said, "you know how to rub people the right way. If ever I +have the blues you are just the right medicine." + +"I don't want to be called medicine," she said with a shake of her head. + +"Not even a sugar pill?" asked Mother Bab. + +"No. I don't like the sound of _pill_." + +David looked across at the preacher, who stood silent and helpless in +the swift tide of conversation. "You may be right, Phares. It may be the +wrath of Providence upon the tobacco. I'll try alfalfa in that field +next and then I'll rub Aladdin's lamp. I'll make some money then!" + +"Where do you find Aladdin's lamp?" asked Phoebe. + +"I can't tell you now. But I know I'm tired of slaving and having +nothing for my work, so I am going after the magic lamp." + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +ALADDIN'S LAMP + + +THE morning after the hail storm dawned fair and sunshiny. David went +out and stood at the edge of his tobacco field. All about him the hail +had wrought its destruction. Where yesterday broad, thick leaves of +green tobacco had stood out strong and vigorous there hung only limp +shreds, punctured and torn into worthlessness. + +"All wasted, my summer's work. I'll rub that magic lamp now. Fool that I +was, not to do it sooner!" + +A little later, as he walked down the road to town, his lips were closed +in a resolute line, his shoulders squared in soldierly fashion. "I hope +Caleb Warner is in his office," he thought. + +Caleb Warner was in; he greeted David cordially. + +"Good-morning, Dave. How are things out your way? Hail do much damage?" + +"Some damage," echoed the farmer. "It hailed just about four hundred +dollars' worth too much for me." + +"What, you don't say so! That's the trouble with your farming." + +Caleb Warner was an affable little man with a frank, almost innocent, +look on his smooth-shaven face. Spontaneous interest in his friends' +affairs made him an agreeable companion and helped materially to +increase his clientele--Caleb Warner dealt in real estate and, +incidentally, in oil stocks and gold stocks. + +"That's just the trouble with your farming," he repeated. "You slave and +break your back and crops are fine and you hope to have a good return +for your labor, when along comes a hail storm and ruins your fruit or +tobacco or corn, or along comes a dry spell or a wet spell with the same +result. It sounds mighty fine to say the farmer is the most independent +person on the face of the earth--it's a different proposition when you +try it out. Not so?" + +"I'm about convinced you speak the truth about it," said the farmer. + +"I know I do. I used to be a farmer, but I have grown wiser. I think +there are too many other ways to make money with less risk." + +"That is why I came----" David hesitated, but the other man waited +silently for the explanation. "Have you any more of the gold-mine stock +you offered me some time ago?" + +"That Nevada mine?" + +"Yes." + +"Just one thousand dollars' worth; the rest is all cleaned out. I sold a +thousand yesterday. Listen, Dave, there's the chance of your life. You +know how I worked on that farm of mine, how my wife had to slave, how +even Mary had to work hard. Then one day a friend of mine who had gone +west came to me and offered me some stock in a western gold mine. My +wife was afraid of it, said I'd lose every cent I put in it and we'd +have to go to the poorhouse--women don't generally understand about +investments. But I went ahead and got the stock, and in a few years I +sold out part of it for a neat sum and drew big dividends on what I +kept. Then we moved to town; my wife keeps a maid, Mary goes to college, +and we're living instead of slaving our lives away on a farm. And it's +honestly made money, for the gold was put into the earth for us to use. +It is just a case of running a little risk, but no person loses money +because of your risk. Of course, there's lots of stock sold that's not +worth the paper it's written on, but I don't sell that kind." + +"People trust you here," said David. + +If the man winced or had reason to do so, he betrayed no sign of it. "I +hope so," he said. "You have known me all my life. If I ever want to +work any skin game I'll go out of the place where all my friends are. +This mine of which I speak is near the mine at Goldfield and some of the +veins struck recently are richer than those of the renowned Goldfield. +They are still striking deeper veins. I have sold stock in that mine to +fifteen people in this town." + +He mentioned some of the residents of Greenwald; people who, in David's +opinion, were too shrewd to be entangled in any nefarious investment. +The names impressed David--if those fifteen put their money into it he +might as well be the sixteenth. + +In a little while David Eby walked home with a paper representing the +ownership of a number of shares of a certain gold mine in Nevada, while +Caleb Warner patted musingly a check for five hundred dollars. + +Mother Bab wondered at her boy's philosophical acceptance of his crop +failure. "I'm glad you take it this way," she said as he came in, +whistling, from his trip to Greenwald. + +"What's the use of crying?" he answered gaily, though he felt far from +gay. Had he been too hasty? Doubts began to assail him. It was going to +be hard to deceive his mother, she was always so eager for his +confidence. But, then, he was doing it for her sake as much as for his +own. The war clouds were drawing nearer and nearer to this country; if +the time came when America would enter the war he would have to answer +the call for help. If the stock turned out to be what the other wise men +of the town felt confident it would be then the added money would be a +boon to his mother while he was away in the service of his country--and +yet--it was a great risk he was running. Why had he done it? The old +lines of the poem came back to him and burned into his soul, + + "O what a tangled web we weave + When first we practice to deceive." + +Then, again, swift upon that thought came the old proverb, "Nothing +venture, nothing gain." Thus he was torn between doubt and satisfaction, +but it was too late to undo the deed. He was the owner of the stock and +Caleb Warner had the five hundred dollars! + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +THE FLEDGLING'S FLIGHT + + +PHOEBE found the packing of her trunk a task not altogether without pain. +As she gathered her few treasures from her room a feeling of desolation +seemed to pervade the place. Going away from home for the first long +stay, however bright the new place of sojourn, brings to most hearts an +undercurrent of sadness. + +She smiled a bit wistfully at her few treasures--her books, an old +picture of her mother, the little Testament Aunt Maria gave her to read, +the few trinkets her school friends had given her from time to time, a +little kodak picture of Mother Bab and David in the flower garden. + +At last the dreary task was done, the trunk strapped, and she was ready +for the journey. It was a perfect September day when she left the gray +farmhouse, drove in the country road and stood with her father, Aunt +Maria, Mother Bab, David and Phares at the railroad station in Greenwald +and waited for the noon train to Philadelphia. + +Jacob Metz and the preacher made brave, though visible, efforts to be +cheerful; Maria Metz made no effort to be anything except very greatly +worried and anxious; but Mother Bab and David were determined that the +girl's departure was to be nothing less than pleasant. + +"Now be sure, Phoebe," said Aunt Maria for the tenth time, "to ask the +conductor at Reading if that train is for Phildelphy before you get on, +and at Phildelphy you wait till Miss Lee fetches you." + +"Yes, Aunt Maria, I'll be careful." + +"And don't lose your trunk check--David, did you give it to her for +sure?" + +"Yes. She'll hold on to it, don't you worry." + +"Phoebe will be all right," said Mother Bab. + +"And," said David teasingly, "be sure to let me know when you need that +beet juice and cream and flour." + +"Davie! Now for that I won't write to you!" + +"Yes you will!" His eyes looked so long into hers that she said +confusedly, "Ach, I'll write. Mind that you take good care of Mother Bab +and stop in sometimes to see how Aunt Maria and daddy are getting on +without me." + +"Ach, we'll be all right," said Aunt Maria. "Just you take care of +yourself so far away from home. And if you get homesick you come right +home. Anyway, you come home soon to see us; and be sure to write every +week still." + +"Yes, yes!" + +A shrill whistle announced the approach of the train. There were hurried +kisses and good-byes, a handshake for the preacher and, last of all, a +handshake for David. He held her hand so long that she cried out, +"David, you'll make me miss the train!" + +"No--good-bye." + +"Good-bye, David." Then she tugged at her hand and in a moment was +hurrying to the train. + +There were few passengers that day, so the train made a short stop. +Phoebe smiled as the train started, leaned forward and waved till the +familiar group was lost to her view, then she settled herself with a +brave little smile and looked at the well-known fields and meadows she +was passing. The trees on Cemetery Hill were silhouetted against the +blue sky just as she had seen them many times in her walks about the +country. + +But soon the old landmarks disappeared and unknown fields lay about her. +Crude rail fences divided acres of rustling corn from orchards whose +trees were laden with red apples or downy peaches. Occasionally flocks +of startled birds rose from fields freshly plowed for the fall sowing of +wheat. Huge red barns and spacious open tobacco sheds, hung with drying +tobacco, gave evidence of the prosperity of the farmers of that section. +Little schoolhouses were dotted here and there along the road. Flowers +bloomed by the wayside and in them Phoebe was especially interested. +Goldenrod in such great profusion that it seemed the very sunshine of +the skies was imprisoned in flower form, stag-horn sumac with its +grape-like clusters of red adding brilliancy to the landscape--everywhere +was manifest the dawn of autumnal glory, the splendor that foreruns decay, +the beauty that is but the first step in nature's transition from blossom +and harvest to mystery and sleep. + +Every two or three miles the train stopped at little stations and then +Phoebe leaned from her window to see the beautiful stretches of country. + +At one flag station the train was signalled and came to a stop. Just +outside Phoebe's window stood a tall farmer. He rubbed his fingers +through his hair and stared curiously at the train. + +"Step lively," shouted the trainman. + +But the farmer shook his head. "Ach, I don't want on your train! I +expected some folks from Lititz and thought they'd be on this here +train. Didn't none get on----" + +But the angry trainman had heard enough. He pulled the cord and the +train started, leaving the old man alone, his eyes scanning the moving +cars. + +Phoebe laughed. "We Pennsylvania Dutch do funny things! I wonder if I'll +seem strange and foolish to the people I shall meet in the great city." + +At Reading she obeyed Aunt Maria's injunction and boarded the proper +train. The ride along the winding Schuylkill was thoroughly enjoyed by +the country girl, but the picture changed when the country was left +behind, suburban Philadelphia passed, and the train entered the crowded +heart of the city. They passed close to dark houses grimy with the +accumulated smoke of many passing locomotives. Great factories loomed +before the train, factories where girls looked up for a moment at the +whirring cars and turned again to the grinding life of loom or machine. +The sight disheartened Phoebe. Was life in the city like that for some +girls? How dreadful to be shut up in a factory while outdoors the whole +panorama of the seasons moved on! She would miss the fields and woods +but she would make the sacrifice gladly if she might only see life, meet +people and learn to sing. The thoughts awakened by the sight of the +shut-in girls were not happy ones. She welcomed the call, "Reading +Terminal, Philadelphia." + +As she followed the stream of fellow passengers and walked through the +dim train shed to the exit her heart beat more quickly--she was really +in Philadelphia! But the noise, the stream of people rushing from trains +past other people rushing to trains, bewildered her. She saw the sea of +faces beyond the iron gates and experienced for the first time the +loneliness that comes to a traveler who enters a thronged depot and sees +a host of people but enters unwelcomed and ungreeted. + +However, the loneliness was momentary. The next minute she caught sight +of Miss Lee. A wave of relief and happiness swept over her--she was in +Philadelphia, the land of her heart's desire! + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +PHOEBE'S DIARY + + + _September 15._ + +I'M in Philadelphia--really, truly! Phoebe Metz, late of a gray +farmhouse in Lancaster County, is sitting in a beautiful room of the Lee +residence, Philadelphia. + +What a lot of things I have to write in you, diary! I can scarcely find +the beginning. Before I left home I thought about keeping a diary, how +entertaining it would be to sit down when I'm old and gray and read the +accounts of my first winter in the city. So I went to Greenwald and +bought the fattest note-book I could find and I'm going to write in you +all of my joys--let's hope there won't be any sorrows--and all of my +pleasures and all about my impressions of places and people in this +great, wonderful City of Brotherly Love. Of course, I'll write letters +home and to David and Mother Bab and some of the girls, but there are so +many things one can't tell others yet likes to remember. So you'll have +to be my safety valve, confidant and confessor. + +When I left the train at Philadelphia I was bewildered and confused. +Such crowds I never saw, not even in Lancaster. Seemed like everybody in +the city was coming from a train or running to one. I was glad to see +Miss Lee. She's the dearest person! I love her as much as I did when I +went to her school on the hill. I'm as tall as she is now. She dresses +beautifully. I thought my blue serge suit was lovely but her clothes +are--well, I suppose you'd call them creations. I'm so glad I'm going to +be near her all winter and can copy from her. + +As I came through the gates at the depot she caught me and kissed me. I +thought she was alone, but a moment later she turned to a tall man and +introduced him, her cousin, Royal Lee, the musician. If Aunt Maria could +see him she'd warn me again, as she did repeatedly, not to "leave that +fiddlin' man get too friendly." He's handsome. I never before met a man +like him. His magnetic smile, his low voice attracted me right away. + +After he piloted us through the crowded depot and into a taxicab Miss +Lee began to ask me questions about Greenwald and the people she knows +there. I felt rather timid, for I was conscious of the appraising eyes +of her cousin. He didn't stare at me, yet every time I glanced at him +his eyes were searching my face. Does he think me very countrified, I +wonder? I do have the red cheeks country girls are always credited with, +but I'm glad I'm not "buxom." I'd hate to be fat! + +I wish I could describe Royal Lee. He's just as I pictured him, only +more so. He has the lean, aesthetic face of the musician, the sensitive +nostrils and thin lips denoting acute temperament. His eyes are gray. + +As we rode through the streets of the city Miss Lee told me her mother +would have me stay with them until we can find a suitable boarding +place. To-morrow we're going in search of one. + +Taxicabs travel pretty fast. We skirted past curbs so that I almost held +my breath and shot past trucks and other cars till I thought we'd surely +land in the street. But we escaped safely and soon stopped at the Lee +residence, a big, imposing brownstone house. It looks bare outside, no +yard, no flowers. But inside it's a lovely place, so inviting and +attractive that I'd like to settle down for life in it. + +Mrs. Lee is as charming as her daughter. She has been a semi-invalid for +years, but even in her wheelchair she has the poise and manner of one +well born. Her greeting was so cordial and gracious, but all I could +answer was an inane, "Thank you, you are very kind." Will I ever learn +to express my thoughts as charmingly as these people do, I wonder! + +When Miss Lee took me up-stairs it was up a bare, polished stairway upon +which I was half afraid to tread. And the room she took me to! I've +heard about such rooms and read about them. Delft blue paper and rugs, +white woodwork and furniture, blue hangings, white curtains--it's a +magazine-room turned to real! + +When I tried to express my gratitude for her goodness Miss Lee hushed me +with a kiss and said she anticipated as much joy from my presence in the +city as I did, that I was so genuine and refreshing that it would be a +pleasure to have me around. I don't know just what she means. I'm just +Phoebe Metz, nothing wonderful about me, unless it's my voice, and I +hope that is. She said, too, that I would make her very happy if I'd let +her be a real friend to me, and if I'd call her Virginia. Why, that's +just what I've been wishing for! I told her so. She is just twelve years +older than I am, so she's near the thirty mark yet, and I like a friend +who is older. She seems just the same Miss Lee, no older than she was +when I walked down the street of Greenwald in my gingham dress and +checked sunbonnet and buried my nose in the pink rose David gave me. How +lucky that little country girl is! I'm here in Philadelphia, in a +beautiful house, with Virginia Lee for my friend, and glorious visions +of music and good times flashing before my eyes. I put my hands to my +head to keep it from going dizzy! + +There's a little speck of cloud in the blue of my joy right now, though. +I'm afraid I've blundered already. Miss Lee--Virginia, I mean--said as +she turned to leave my room that they have dinner at six and I'd have +plenty of time to get ready for it. I had to tell her that I couldn't +change my dress, that I hadn't thought to bring any light dress in my +bag but had packed them all in the trunk. She hurried to assure me that +my dark skirt and white blouse would do very well, that she would not +dress for dinner to-night. But I feel sure that she seldom appears at +the dinner table in a blouse and tailored skirt. Guess Aunt Maria'd say +I'm in a place too tony for me, but I know I can learn how to do here. I +might have remembered that some people make of their evening meal a +formal one. I've read about "dressing for dinner" and when my first +opportunity comes to do so it finds me with all my dress-up dresses +packed in a trunk in the express office! Perhaps it serves me right for +wanting to "put on style," but I remember an old saying about "doing as +the Romans do." At any rate, I'm going to make the best of it and quit +worrying about it, or I'll be so fussed I'll eat with my knife or pour +my coffee into my saucer! + + + _Later in the evening._ + +What a whirl my brain is in! Things happen so fast that I scarcely know +where to begin again to write about them. But it began with the dinner. +That was the grandest dinner I ever tasted but I don't remember a single +thing I ate, though I do know there was no bread or jelly. What would +Aunt Maria think of that! The delicate china, fine linen and silver were +the loveliest I have ever seen. There were electric lights with +soft-colored shades and there was a colored waiter who seemed to move +without effort. The forks and spoons for the different courses bothered +me. I had to glance at Virginia to see which one to use. Once during the +dinner I thought of the time Mollie Brubaker told Aunt Maria about a +dinner she had in the home of a city relative. I remember how Aunt Maria +sniffed, "Humph, if abody's right hungry you can eat without such dumb +style put on. I say when you cook and carry things to the table for +people you don't need to feed them yet, they can help themselves. Just +so it's clean and cooked good and enough to go round, that's all I try +for when I get company to eat." I felt like a fish out of water at the +Lee dinner table, but Mrs. Lee and the others were so kind and tactful +that I could not be embarrassed, not enough to show it. However, I +thought to myself as we rose from the table, "Thank Heaven!" + +Mrs. Lee asked me whether I like music. We were in the sitting-room and +Mr. Lee stood by the piano, his hand on his violin case. + +"Yes, indeed!" I told her, for I was anxious to hear him play. I have +never heard any great violinist but the sound of a violin sets me +thrilling. I could listen to it for hours. + +Mr. Lee smiled at my enthusiasm, lifted the instrument to his shoulder +and began to play. If I live to be a hundred I'll never forget that +music! Like the soothing winds of summer, the subtle fragrance of a wild +rose, the elusive phantoms of our dreams, it stirred my soul. I sat as +one dazed when he ended. + +"You say nothing. Don't you like my music?" he asked me. + +"Like your music? Like is too poor a word!" And I tried to tell him how +I loved it. He smiled again, that calling, hypnotizing smile, that made +me want to rush to him and ask him to be my friend. But I restrained +myself and turned to listen to Virginia. The music haunted me. It +sounded like the voice of a soul searching for something it could never +find. I was still dreaming about it when I heard Mr. Lee say, "Now, +Aunt, shall we have some cribbage?" I watched him uncomprehendingly as +he arranged a small table and brought out cards and boards for a game. +The full significance of his actions dawned upon me--they were going to +play cards! I had never seen a game of cards, but Aunt Maria taught me +long ago that cards are the instrument of the Evil One. My first impulse +was to run from the room, away from the cards, but I hated to be so +rude. + +"Do you play cards?" Royal Lee asked me. + +"No, oh, no!" I gasped. + +"You should learn. I'm sure you would enjoy playing." + +I know my face flushed. He did not notice my bewilderment and went on, +"We'll teach you to play, Miss Metz." Then he turned to the game. + +Virginia came to my rescue and drew me to a seat near her. She asked me +questions about Greenwald. Goodness only knows what I answered her. My +attention was a variant. Troubled thoughts distressed me. In Aunt +Maria's category of sins dancing, card playing and theatre-going rank +side by side with lying, stealing and idolatry. As I sat there I tried +to reconcile my opinion of these worldly pleasures with the conduct of +my new friends. The tangle is too complicated to unravel at once. I +could feel blushes of shame staining my cheeks as the game progressed. +What would Aunt Maria say, what would daddy say, what would even +tolerant Mother Bab say, if they knew I sat passively by and watched a +game of cards? After a little while I asked Virginia whether I could +write a letter to Aunt Maria and tell her of my safe arrival. I just had +to get out of that room! I don't know if she saw through my ruse but +she smiled as she put her arm around me and led me to the stairs. +"There's a desk in your room, Phoebe. You can be undisturbed there. Tell +your aunt we are going to help you find a comfortable home and that we +are going to take care of you. I'll be up presently to visit with you." + +When I got up-stairs I felt like crying. Those cards actually scared me. +I shrank from being so near the evil things. But after a while as I came +to think more calmly I decided that cards couldn't hurt me if I didn't +play them. I promised myself to keep from being contaminated with the +wickedness of the city the while I enjoyed its harmless pleasures. The +first horror of the cards soon passed but it left me sobered. I wrote a +long letter to Aunt Maria and then turned off the lights and looked down +into the city street. It seemed wonderful to me to see so many lights +stretched off until some of them were mere specks. There was a wedding +across the street. I saw the guests and caught a glimpse of the bride, +dressed all in white. But later, when Virginia came up to my room and I +asked her about it she didn't know a thing about the wedding. Why, at +home, if there's a big wedding and the neighbors don't know about it or +are not invited to it, they feel slighted. But Virginia says a city is +different, that you don't really have neighbors like in Greenwald. + +Virginia told me, too, how she came to teach in our school on the hill. +When she finished college she wanted to earn money, just to prove that +she could. Her father wanted her to stay home and live the life of a +butterfly, she says. One day he said, more in jest than earnest, that if +she insisted upon earning money he'd give his consent to her being a +teacher in a rural school. She accepted the challenge and through her +cousin she secured the place on the hill and became my teacher. When her +father died and her mother became a semi-invalid she gave up her work +and took up the old life again. She said that as if it were not really a +desirable life, this going to teas, dances, plays, musicals, lectures, +and having no cares or worries. Of course I know many of her pleasures +are forbidden fruit for me, but if I ever can wear pretty clothes like +hers and go off to an evening musical or concert I know I'll be as +excited as a Jenny Wren. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +DIARY--THE NEW HOME + + + _September 16._ + +I'VE dreamed my first dreams in Philadelphia. Such dreams as they were! +Whatever it was I ate for supper it must have been richer than our +Lancaster County sausage and fried mush, for I dreamed all night. My +old-fashioned walnut bed with its red and green calico quilt seemed to +swing before me while Mother Bab and Aunt Maria talked to me. A clanging +trolley car woke me and I remembered that I had been dreaming of Phares +and the tanager's nest. I slept again and heard the strains of Royal +Lee's violin till another car clanged past and woke me. I woke once to +find myself saying, "Braid it straight, Davie. Aunt Maria's awful mad." +When I slept again I thought I heard Royal Lee say, "We'll teach you to +play cards," and speared tails and horned heads seemed mixed +promiscuously with little pieces of cardboard bearing red and black +symbols and the words "I'll get you if you don't watch out" rang in my +ears. "Ugh, what awful dreams," I thought as I lay awake and listened +for sounds of activity in the house. I missed Aunt Maria's five o'clock +call. The luxury of an eight o'clock breakfast couldn't be appreciated +the first morning, as I was wide awake at five. I'll soon learn to +sleep later. There are many things I shall learn before I go back to the +farm. + +This morning Virginia and I started out on a glorious adventure, looking +for a boarding place. She laughed when I called it that. + +"I like the uncertainty of it," I told her. "The charm of the unknown +appeals to me. I do not know under whose roof I shall sleep to-night yet +I'm happy because I know I am going to meet new people and see new +things. Of course, if I did not have you to help me I would remember +Aunt Maria's dire tales of the evils and dangers of a big city and +should feel afraid. As it is, I feel only curious and gay. No matter +where I find a place to live it's bound to be quite different from the +farm, not better, necessarily, but different." + +But my "high hopes of youth" received a jolt at the very first interview +with a boarding-house mistress. She wouldn't take young ladies who were +studying music, their practice would annoy the other boarders. I had +never thought of that! + +The second quest was equally unsatisfactory. One room was vacant, a +pleasant room--at twelve dollars a week! The sum left me speechless. +Virginia had to explain that the amount was a _trifle_ more than I +expected to pay. + +The third proved to be a smaller house on a narrower street. A charming +old lady led us into a sitting-room. All my life I've been accustomed to +the proverbial cleanliness of the Pennsylvania Dutch but I'm certain I +never saw a place as clean as that house. I said something like that to +its mistress and she informed me with a gentle firmness I never heard +before that she expected every guest in her house to help to keep it in +that condition. She had several rules she wanted all to obey, so that +the sunshine would not have a chance to fade the rugs and the dust from +the street could not ruin things. I knew I would not be happy there. I +like clean rooms, but if it's a matter of choosing between foul air +_without_ dust and fresh air _with_ dust I'll take the dust every time. +I'd feel like a funeral to live in a house where the curtains and shades +were down every day, summer and winter, to keep the sunshine out of the +rooms and prevent the jade-green and china-blue and old-rose of the rugs +from fading. + +The fourth place was in suburban Philadelphia, fifty minutes' ride from +the heart of the city. It was a big colonial house set in a great yard, +a relic of the days when gardens still flourished in the city and the +breathing spaces allotted to householders were larger than at the +present time. As we went up the shrubbery-bordered walk to the pillared +porch I said, "I want to live here." + +Mrs. McCrea, the boarding-house mistress, did not object to the music, +provided I took the large room on the third floor and did all my +practicing between the hours of eight and five, when the other boarders +were gone to business. The price of the room is seven dollars a week. + +I took the room at once, before Mrs. McCrea had any chance of changing +her mind. I thought it was a very pleasant room, with its two windows +looking out on the green yard. + +But later, after Virginia had gone and I was left alone in the room, the +queerest feeling came over me. I never knew what it meant to be +homesick, but I think I had a touch of it this afternoon in this room. I +hated this place for about half an hour. I saw that the paint is soiled, +the rug worn, the pictures cheap, the bed and bureau trimmed with +gingerbready scrolls and knobs. It's so different from the blue and +white room I slept in last night, so different from my plain, +old-fashioned room at home. "It's all right," I said to myself, half +crying, "but it's so different." + +Fortunately the word _different_ struck a responsive chord in my memory. +I remembered that I wanted different things, and smiled again and dashed +the tears away. I arranged my own pictures and few belongings about the +room and felt more at home. After I had dressed and stood ready to go +down for my first dinner in my new home I felt happier. To be living, to +be young and enthusiastic, to possess the colossal courage of youth, was +enough to bring happiness into my heart again. I'm going to like this +place. I'm going to work and play and live in this wonderful city. + +Mrs. McCrea introduced the "New boarder" and I took my assigned place at +a long table in the dining-room. I remembered that I once read that the +average boarding-house is a veritable school for students of human +nature. I wondered what I would learn from the people I met there. The +fat man across the table from me gave me no opportunity for any mental +ramblings. He launched me right into conversation by asking my opinion +of the war in Europe and whether or not we would be dragged into the +trouble. + +"Really," I answered him, "I don't know much about it. I don't think of +it any more than I can help." + +Of course that was the wrong thing to say. It started a deluge. A +studious-looking woman wearing heavy tortoise-shell rimmed spectacles +took my answer as a personal affront. "Why not, Miss Metz?" she +demanded. "Why should we not think about it? We women of America need to +wake up! In this country we are lolling in ease and safety while other +nations bleed and die that we might remain safe. We have no thoughts +higher than our hats or deeper than our boots if the catastrophe across +the sea does not waken in us an earnest desire to help the stricken +nations." + +Others took up the argument and I sat quiet and helpless, for I know too +little about the cause and progress of the war to talk intelligently +about it. A sense of responsibility grazed my soul. I wished I were able +to help France and Belgium, but what can I do? The constant harping on +the subject of war irritated me. I felt relieved when a young girl near +me asked, "Miss Metz, do you like the movies? There's a place near here +where they show fine pictures, funny ones to make you forget the war for +several hours, at least." + +On the whole, I think I'm going to like life at Mrs. McCrea's +boarding-house. I hear the views of so many different sorts of people. +And it certainly is different from my life on the farm. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +DIARY--THE MUSIC MASTER + + + _September 19._ + +MY four days in Philadelphia have just been one exclamation point after +another! The most wonderful thing happened to me last night! Mrs. Lee +invited me over for dinner. I glided through the courses a little more +gracefully--one can learn if the will is there. I always loved dainty +things. I suppose that is why I delight in the Lee home and am eager to +adopt the ways of my new friends. + +After dinner Mr. Lee played again. Of course I enjoyed that. When I +praised his playing he said he heard I'm a real genius and asked me to +sing for them. Mr. Krause, one of the best teachers of music in the +city, is a friend of Royal and Virginia thinks he would be the very one +to teach me. Mr. Lee wrote to Mr. Krause this summer and the music +teacher promised to take me for a pupil if I have a voice worth the +trouble. Virginia had prepared me for my meeting with him. Seems he's +queer, odd, cranky and painfully frank. But he knows how to teach music +so well that many would-be singers pray to be taken into his studio. Mr. +Lee said yesterday that Mr. Krause was expected home from his vacation +in a few days and then he'd arrange an interview. I trembled when he +said that. What if the great teacher did not like my voice! + +To-night when Mr. Lee asked me to sing I selected a simple song. As I +sat down before the baby grand piano the words of the old song "Sweet +and Low" came to me. I would sing that until I gained courage and +confidence to sing a harder selection. I played from memory. As I sang I +was back again at home, singing to my father at the close of the day. + +As the last words died on my lips and I turned on the chair a man, a +stranger to me, appeared in the room. He hurried unceremoniously to the +piano and greeted me, "You can sing!" + +I stared at him. He was an odd-looking, active little man of about fifty +with keen blue eyes that bored into one like a gimlet. + +Mr. Lee came toward us. "Mr. Krause," he exclaimed, and presented to me +the music master, the teacher for whom I had dreaded so to sing! I was +filled with inarticulate gladness. + +"Mr. Krause," I cried, grasping his outstretched hand in my old +impetuous way, "do you mean it? Can I learn to sing?" + +"I said so--yes. You can sing. You need to learn how to use your voice +but the voice is there." + +"I'm so glad. I'll work----" I couldn't say any more. My joy was too +great to be expressed in words. I looked mutely into the wrinkled face +of the man. + +"Royal said he had found a songbird," he went on smiling, "but I was +afraid he didn't know the difference between that and an owl--I see he +did. I'll be glad to have you for a pupil. Royal can bring you to my +studio to-morrow at eleven." + +Mr. Krause stayed a while longer and the sitting-room was gay with +laughter and bright conversation. I think I heard little of it, though, +for the words, "You can sing!" kept ringing in my ears and crowding out +all other sounds. + +I can sing! Mr. Krause has told me I can sing! And I will sing! Some day +all the world may stop to hear! + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +DIARY--THE FIRST LESSON + + + _September 20._ + +I HAD my first music lesson to-day. Mr. Lee called for me at the +boarding-house and took me down-town to the studio. After he left I +expected Mr. Krause to begin at once on the do, ra, me, fa, sol, la, si, +do. But he thought differently! + +He sat facing me, looking at me till I felt like running. "And so," he +said quietly, "you want to learn to sing." + +"Yes," was all I could say. + +"Well, you have a voice. If you want to work like all great singers have +had to work you can be a singer. You may not set the world afire with +your fame but you'll be worth hearing. You are Pennsylvania Dutch?" + +I nodded. What under the sun did Pennsylvania Dutch have to do with my +becoming a singer? I was provoked. I didn't come to the city and pay a +music teacher to ask me foolish questions. + +"That is good," he went on calmly. "The Pennsylvania Dutch are not +afraid of work and that is what you need. The road to success in music +is like the road to success in any other thing, long and hard and +up-hill most of the way. Now that Pennsylvania Dutch is a funny +language. It is neither Dutch nor English nor German but is like hash, a +little of this and a little of that. Do you speak it?" + +I said I have spoken it all my life but wished I had never been taught +it. + +"Why?" he asked. + +"Oh"--I couldn't quite veil my irritation--"it perverts our English." + +"Nothing uncommon," he answered, smiling. "Every part of this great +country has some peculiarities of speech common to that particular +section and laughed at in the other sections. Now we will go on with the +lesson." + +When he really did begin to teach I found him a wonder. I'm going to +enjoy, thoroughly enjoy, my music lessons. + +Mr. Lee called for me after the lesson. I told him I could find the way +back to the boarding-house alone, but he said he'd consider it a +pleasure and privilege to call for me. He has the nicest manners! He +never needs to flounder around for the right thing to say, it just slips +from his tongue like butter. Aunt Maria always says, "look out for them +smooth apple-sass talkers," but I'm sure Mr. Lee is a gentleman and just +the right kind for a country girl to know. + +When he called at the studio this morning I felt proud to walk away with +him. He suggested riding home but I told him I'd rather walk, at least +part of the way. We started up Chestnut Street. What a wonderful place +that is! Such lovely stores I've never seen. I'm going to sneak away +some day and visit every one that has women's belongings for sale. And +the clothes I saw on Chestnut Street--on the women, I mean! My own +wardrobe certainly is plain and ordinary compared with the things I saw +women wear to-day. I couldn't help saying to Mr. Lee, "What lovely +clothes Philadelphia women wear!" He smiled that wonderful smile and +said, "Miss Metz, a diamond has no need of a glittering case, it has +sufficient brilliancy itself." I caught his meaning, I couldn't help +it--he meant me! Now I know I'm no beauty, but perhaps if I had clothes +like those I saw to-day I'd be more attractive. I wonder if I'll get +them; they must cost lots of money. + +As we walked along Mr. Lee told me he knows I'll have a wonderful year +in the city, and that he is going to help it be the gladdest, merriest +one I've ever had. + +"Oh, you're good," I said. + +"It must be that goodness inspires goodness," he replied. + +I didn't know what to answer. Men up home never say such things, at +least I never heard them. Phares couldn't think of such things to say +and David never made a "pretty speech" in his life. I know he thinks +nice things about me sometimes but he wouldn't word them like Royal Lee +does. I didn't want Mr. Lee to think I'm uncommonly good, I told him I'm +not. + +"Not good?" He laughed at the idea. "Why, you are just a sweet, lovely +young thing knowing nothing of evil." + +"Oh!" I said, feeling stupid before him, "you're too polite! I never +met any one like you. But I want to ask you about cards, playing cards. +I can't see that they are wrong but Aunt Maria and my father and all my +friends up home think they are wicked. Aunt Maria would rather part with +her right hand than play a game of cards." + +Mr. Lee laughed and said he's surprised that I am willing to accept the +beliefs of others; can't I decide for myself what is wrong or right? Did +I want to be narrow and goody-goody? + +Of course I don't want to be like that, and I told him so. + +He laughed again, a low, soft laugh. I never heard a man laugh like that +before. When daddy laughs he laughs out loud, the kind of laugh you join +in when you hear it. And David laughs like that too, a merry laugh that +sounds, as he says, like it's coming clean from his boots. But Mr. Lee's +laugh is different. I don't like it as well as the other kind, though it +fascinates me. He said he knows I can't change my ideas in a night but +he depends upon my good sense to decide what is right for me to do. He +asked if I thought Virginia and her mother are wicked. They have played +cards, danced, gone to theatres, all their lives. If I hope to have a +really enjoyable time in the city I must do the same. He said, too, that +I'll soon see that many of the teachings of the country churches are +antiquated and entirely too narrow for this day. + +Dancing--I shuddered at the word, but I didn't tell him how I feel about +it. Aunt Maria says dancing is even worse than playing cards. Why did +he tempt me? I don't want to do wicked things, but when he mentioned +forbidden pleasures I felt, somehow, that I wanted to do what Virginia +does and have a good time with her and her friends. That would be +dreadful! What am I thinking of! Is my head turned already? Can the evil +of the world have exerted its influence upon me so soon? Of course, if I +become a great singer I'll naturally have to live a life different from +the narrow, restricted life of the farm. I must live a broader, freer +life. But for a while, at least, I'll have to be the same old Phoebe +Metz. I tried to tell Mr. Lee something like that, and he quoted, + + "If you become a nun, dear, + A friar I will be; + In any cell you run, dear, + Pray look behind for me." + +Are city men always free like that? Is it the way of the new world I +have entered? Before I could think of a suitable answer he said lightly, +"But before you turn nun let me buy you some flowers." + +We stopped at a floral shop. Such flowers! I've never seen their equal! +I exclaimed in many O's as I paused by the window, but I felt my cheeks +flush at the idea of having him buy any of the lovely flowers for me. + +"Come inside," he said. "What do you like?" + +"I love them all," I told him as we stood before the array of blossoms. +"I think I like the yellow rosebuds best, though. We have some at home +on the farm but they bloom only in June." + +I detected an odd smile on his lips. What was wrong? Had I committed a +breach of etiquette? Was it wrong to mention farms in a city floral +shop? But his courteous, attentive manner returned in an instant. He +watched me pin the yellow roses on my coat, smiled, and led me outside +again. I felt proud as any queen, for those were the first flowers any +man ever bought for me. + + + + +CHAPTER XX + +DIARY--SEEING THE CITY + + + _October 2._ + +I HAVE been seeing Philadelphia. Mr. Lee teasingly told me that most +newcomers want to "do" the city so he and Virginia would take me round. +They took me to see all the places I studied about in history class. +I've done the Betsy Ross House, Franklin's Grave, Old Christ Church and +Old Swede's Church. I like them all. Best of all I like Independence +Hall, with its wonderful stairways and wide window sills and, most +important, its grand old Liberty Bell and its history. + +Yesterday Mr. Lee took me to Memorial Hall in Fairmount Park. I like the +pictures and oh, I looked long at a white marble statue of Isaac, his +hands bound for the sacrifice. The face is beautiful. Royal Lee was +amused at my interest in it and took me off to see the rare Chinese +vases. We wandered around among the cases of glassware and then I found +a case with valuable Stiegel glass, made in my own Lancaster County. I +was proud of that! We went through Horticultural Hall and stopped to see +the lovely sunken gardens, with their fall flowers. + +I like to go about with Royal Lee. He is so efficient. Crowds seem to +fall back for him. He has the attractive, masterful personality that +everybody recognizes. I feel a reflected glory from his presence. We +have grown to be great friends in an amazingly short time. Our music, +our appreciation of each other's ability, has strengthened the bond +between us. Mrs. Lee sends me many invitations for dinner and week-ends +in her beautiful home, so that Mr. Lee and I are already well +acquainted. He has asked me to call him Royal and if he might call me +Phoebe. I've told him all about my life on the farm, my friends up +there, and the plans and dreams of my heart. He likes to tease me and +call me a little Quakeress, but I don't enjoy that for he does it in a +way I don't like. It sounds as if he's scoffing at the plain people. +When I told him about the meeting house and described the service he +laughed and said that a religion like that might do for a little country +place but it would never do in a city. I bridled at that and tried to +tell him about the wholesome, useful lives those people up home lead, +how much good a woman like Mother Bab can do in the world. But he could +not be easily convinced. He thinks they are crude and narrow. When I +told him they are lovely and fine he challenged me and asked if I am +willing to wear plain clothes and renounce all pleasures, jewelry and +becoming raiment. I had to tell him I'm not ready for that yet, and he +smiled triumphantly. He predicted I'll play cards and dance before the +winter ends. I don't like him when he's so flippant. I want to be loyal +to my home teaching but I see more clearly every day how great is the +difference between the pleasures sanctioned by my people and those +Virginia and her friends enjoy. There's a mystery somewhere I can't +solve. Like Omar, I "evermore come out at the same door where in I +went." + + + _October 29._ + +To-day we went for a long drive along the Wissahickon. The woods are +bronze and scarlet now. The wild asters made me homesick for Lancaster +County. I wanted to get out of the car and walk but Virginia and her +friends wouldn't join me. I wanted to bury my nose in the goldenrod and +asters--and get hay fever, one of the girls told me--and I just ached to +push my way through the tangled bushes along the road and let the golden +leaves of the hickory and beeches brush my face. It seems that most city +people I have met don't know how to enjoy nature. They have a +nodding-from-a-motor-acquaintance with it but I like a real +handshake-friendship with it. I just wished David were here to-day! He'd +have taken my hand and run me to the top of the hill and picked a branch +of scarlet maple to carry with my goldenrod and asters. Well, I can't +have the penny and the cake. I want to be in the city, of course that's +the thing I most desire at present--I really am having a good time. + +In the evening we went to Holy Trinity Church. The organ recital gripped +my soul. I wanted it to last for hours. And yet when it was over and the +rector stood before us and preached one of his impressive sermons I was +just as much interested as I had been in the music. There's a feeling of +restful calm comes to me in a big dim church with stained glass +windows. We stopped in the Cathedral one day last week. That is a +wonderful place, too. I like the idea of having churches open all the +time for prayer and meditation. I'm learning so many new ideas these +days. If I ever do wear the plain dress I'm sure of one thing, I'll be +broad-minded enough to respect the beliefs of other persons. + + + _November 11._ + +I can put another red mark on my calendar. I heard the great Irish +Tenor! Glory, what a voice! It's the kind can echo in your ears to your +dying day and follow you with its sweetness everywhere you go! I have +been humming those lovely Irish songs all day. + +But before the recital my heart was heavy. I have no evening gown, no +evening wrap, so I couldn't join the box party to which one of +Virginia's friends invited us. I meant to stay at home and not break up +the party, but Royal insisted upon buying two tickets in a section of +the opera house where a plainer dress would do. In the end I allowed +myself to be persuaded by him and we two went to the recital alone. When +that tenor voice sounded through the place I forgot all about my limited +wardrobe. I could hear him sing if I were dressed in calico and think of +nothing but his singing. + + + _November 12._ + +I wrote letters to-day. Mother Bab and David write such lovely ones to +me that I have to try hard to keep up my end of it. Sometimes David +tells me he is anxious to supply me with the beet juice, cream and flour +whenever I'm ready to begin the prima donna act. I can hear his laugh +when I read the letter. Sometimes he's serious and talks about the crops +of their farm and tells me the community news like an old grandmother. +Phares Eby writes me an occasional letter, a stilted little note that +sounds just like Phares. It always has some good advice in it. Aunt +Maria's letters and daddy's come every week. I'd feel lost without them. +I like to feel that everybody I care for at home is interested in and +cares for me even if I am in Philadelphia. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +DIARY--CHRYSALIS + + + _December 3._ + +I'M as miserable as any mortal can be! Oh, I'm still having a good time +going around seeing the city, visiting the stores and museums, +practicing hard in music, pleasing my teacher. But just the same, I'm +not happy. The reason is this: I want pretty gowns like Virginia wears, +I want to dance and play cards and see real plays. I dare say I'm a +contemptible sinner to want all that after the way I've been brought up. +I ought to be satisfied with all the wonderful things I enjoy in this +big city but I'm not. + +Last week Virginia entertained the Bridge Club and tried to persuade me +to learn to play and come to the party. Royal was provoked about it. He +thinks I should learn to play. I told him I should have no peace if I +learned to do such things. + +"Peace," he scorned, "no one has peace these days. The whole world is in +a turmoil. Do you think your little Quaker-like girls of Lancaster +County have peace these days?" + +"They have peace of mind and conscience." + +"But that," he said, "is the peace that touches those who live in +selfish solitude. The virtue that dwells in the hearts of those who +retire into hermitages is a negative virtue." + +"You speak like a seer, a philosopher," I told him. + +"Like a rational human being, I hope," he said petulantly. "But the +thoughts are not original. I am merely echoing the opinion of sane +thinkers. I have no appreciation of the foolish and useless sacrifice +you are persistently making. We were not put on this planet to be dull +nuns and monks. We have red blood racing through our veins and were not +intended for sluggishness." + +"Yes--but----" + +He went off peeved at my refusal to do as he wished. + +What can I do? Shall I capitulate? I have wrestled with my desire for +pleasure until I'm tired of the struggle. My old contentment has +deserted me. I'm restless and dissatisfied, scarcely knowing what is +right or wrong. + + + _Next day._ + +I'm happy again. Being on the fence grows mighty uncomfortable after a +while, so I jumped across. I have decided to become a butterfly! + +I had luncheon to-day with Virginia. She had to run off to one of her +Bridge Clubs so I offered to mend the lace on one of her gowns while she +was gone. I was alone in the sitting-room that adjoins Virginia's +bedroom. I love that little sitting-room. Virginia and I spend many +happy hours in it when we want to get away from everybody and have a +long chat. I like its big comfortable winged chairs by the cheery open +fire. + +I dreamed a while before the fire, the gown across my knees. It's a pink +gown, that scarcely defined pink of a sea shell. Virginia had often +tempted me to try it on and see how well I'd look in a dress of that +kind. The temptation came to do it. I jumped up in sudden determination. +I _would_ put it on! I'd see for once how I looked in a real gown. I ran +to Virginia's room to the low dressing table. My hands trembled as I +opened the tight coils of my hair and shook it until it seemed to nod +exultingly. I fluffed the curls loosely over my forehead and twisted the +hair into a fashionable knot. Then I took off my plain blue serge dress +and slipped the pink one over my head. The soft draperies clung to me, +the gossamer lace lay upon my breast like a silken mist. I was beautiful +in that gown and I knew it. It was my hour of appreciation of my own +charm. + +Later I lifted the dress and saw my plain calfskin shoes. I smiled but +soon grew sober as I thought that the incongruity between gown and shoes +was no greater than that between the gown and the girl--the girl who was +reared to wear plain clothes and be honest and unpretentious. But +honesty--that is the rock to which I cling now. I am going to be honest +with myself and have my share of happiness while I'm young. + +I went back again to the fire, still wearing the borrowed gown. Virginia +found me there several hours later. When she came in and saw me, a +gorgeous butterfly, she said, she was very happy. She would have me go +down to her mother and Royal. I shrank from it but she said I might as +well become accustomed to being stared at when I was so dazzling and +beautiful. I went down, feeling almost as much of a culprit as I did the +day Aunt Maria surprised me at playing prima donna and marched me in to +the quilting party. + +Mrs. Lee was lovely. She is sure I deserve to be happy in my youth. +Royal went mad. "Ye Gods!" he cried as he ran to me and grasped my +hands. "You take my breath away! You are like this!" He seized his +violin and began to play the Spring Song. The quivering ecstasy of +spring, the mating calls of robins and orioles, the rushing joy of +bursting blossoms, the delicate perfume of violets and trailing arbutus, +the dazzling shafts of sunlight pierced by silver showers of capricious +April--all echoed in the melody of the violin. + +"You are like that, that is you!" he said as he laid his instrument +aside. His words were very sweet to me. The future beckons into sunlit +paths of joy. + +So I have departed from the teachings of my childhood and turned to the +so-called vanities of the world. I am going to grasp my share of +happiness while I can enjoy them. + +When I went up-stairs again to take off the borrowed gown I was already +planning the new clothes I want to buy. I must have a pink crepe +georgette, a pale, pale blue--just as I'm writing this there flashes to +my mind one of those old Memory Gems I learned in school on the hill. + + "But pleasures are like poppies spread,-- + You seize the flower, its bloom is shed; + Or like the snow fall on the river, + A moment white, then melts forever." + +I wonder, is there always a fly in the ointment! + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + +DIARY--TRANSFORMATION + + + _December 15._ + +A FEW days can make a difference in one's life. I'm well on the way of +being a real butterfly. I have bought new dresses, a real evening gown +and a lovely silk dress to wear to the Bridge Club. It's lucky I saved +my money these three months and had a nice surplus to buy these new +things. + +Royal is teaching me to play cards. He says I take to them like a duck +to water. Virginia and he are giving me dancing lessons. I love to +dance! The same spirit that prompted me to skip when I wore sunbonnets +is now urging me on to the dance. In a few weeks I'll be ready to join +in the pleasures of my new friends. After the Christmas holidays the +city will be gay until the Lenten season. + + + _January 5._ + +I went home for Christmas and I suppose I managed to make everybody +there unhappy and worried. I couldn't let them think I am the same quiet +girl and not tell them about the cards and dancing. Daddy was hurt, but +he didn't scold me. He said plainly that he does not approve of my +course, that he thinks cards and dancing wicked. He added that I had +been taught the difference between right and wrong and was old enough to +see it. Perhaps he thinks I'll "run my horns off quicker" if I'm let go, +as Aunt Maria often says about people. But she didn't say that about me. +She made up for what daddy didn't say. She begged him to make me stay at +home away from the wicked influences of the city. I had the hardest time +to keep calm and not say mean things to her. She's ashamed of me and +afraid people up there will find out how worldly I am. I had to tell +Mother Bab too. I know I hurt her. She was so gentle and lovely about it +that I felt half inclined to tell her I'd give up everything she didn't +approve of, just to please her. But I didn't. I couldn't do that when I +know I'm not doing anything wrong. She changed the subject and inquired +about my music. In that I was able to please her. She shared my joy when +I told her of my critical music master's approval of my progress. I sang +some of my new songs for her and she kissed me with the same love and +tenderness she has always had for me. I wonder sometimes whether I could +possibly have loved my own mother more. Somehow, as I sat with her in +her dear, cozy sitting-room I hated the cards and the dancing and half +wished I had never left the farm. But that's a narrow, provincial view +to take. Now that I'm back again I'm caught once more in the whirl. +Everybody is entertaining, as if in a frantic endeavor to be surfeited +before Lent and thus be able to endure the dullness of that period of +suspended social activities. The harrowing tales of suffering France +and Belgium have occasioned Benefit Teas and Benefit Bridges and +Benefit Dances, all for the aid of the war sufferers. Royal usually +takes me to the social affairs. I enjoy being with him. He's the most +entertaining man I ever met. He has traveled in Europe and all over our +own country and can tell what he has seen. He attracts attention, +whether he speaks or plays or is just silent. One day he said it would +be a pleasure to travel with me, I enjoy things so and can appreciate +their beauty. I could scarcely resist telling him how I'd enjoy +traveling with a man like him. Oh, I dream wild dreams sometimes, but I +really must stop doing that. The present is too wonderful to go +borrowing joy from the future. + + + _February 2._ + +I'm all in a fluster. I have to write here what happened to-day. If I +had a mother she could help and advise me but an adopted mother, even +one as dear and near as Mother Bab, won't do for such confidences. + +Royal and I were sitting alone before the open fireplace. It's a +dangerous place to be! The glowing fire sends such weird shadows +flickering up and down. Its living fire is sometimes an entreating Circe +waking undesirable impulses, then again it's a spirit that heals and +inspires. I love an open fire but to-day I should have fled from it and +yet--I think I'm glad I didn't. + +I looked up suddenly from the gleaming logs--right into the eyes of +Royal. His voice startled me as he said, with the strangest catch in his +voice, that my eyes are bluer than the skies. I tried to keep my voice +ordinary as I lightly told him that some other person once told me they +are the color of fringed gentians--could he improve on that? + +"You little fairy!" he cried. "I can beat that! They are blue as +bluebirds!" Then he went on impetuously, telling me I was a real +bluebird of happiness, a bringer of joy; that the ancients called the +bluebird the emblem of happiness, but he knew the blue of my eyes was +the real joy sign--or something like that he said. It startled me. I +tried to tell him he must not talk like that but my words were useless. +He went on to say that the world was bleak and unlovely till I came to +Philadelphia and wouldn't I tell him I care for him. + +Of course I value his friendship and told him so. But he laughed and +said I was a wise little girl but I couldn't evade his question like +that. He said frankly he doesn't want my friendship, he wants my love, +he must have it! + +I felt like a helpless bird. I couldn't answer him. He looked at me, a +long, searching look. Then he pressed his thin lips together, and a +moment later, threw back his head and laughed his low laugh. + +"Little bluebird," he said softly, "I have frightened you and I wouldn't +do that for worlds! We'll talk it over some other time, after you have +had time to think about it. Shall I play for you?" + +I nodded and he began to play. But the music didn't soothe me as it +usually does. There were too many confused thoughts in my brain. Did +Royal really love me? I looked at his white hands with the long +tapering nails and the shapely fingers and couldn't help thinking of the +strong, tanned hands of David Eby. I glanced at the handsome face of the +musician with its magnetic charm--swiftly the countenance of my old +playmate rose before me and then slowly faded: David, boyish and +comradely; David, manly and strong, without ever a sneer or an unholy +light upon his face. Could I ever forget him? Could I ever look into the +face of any other man and call it the dearest in the whole world to me? +Ach--I shook my head and gathered my recreant wits together! I'd forget +what he said and attribute it to the weird influence of the firelight. + +I was glad Virginia came before Royal finished playing. She looked at us +keenly. I suppose my face was flushed. But Royal seldom loses his +outward calm. He answered her remarks in his casual way and listened +with seeming interest to her plans for a pre-Lenten masquerade dance she +wants to give. She has asked me to go dressed in a plain dress and white +cap like Aunt Maria wears. I hesitated about it but she has done so much +for me that I hate to refuse. So I've promised to go to the dance +dressed in a plain dress and cap. + +A little later when Royal left us alone Virginia began to speak about +him. She said she's so glad we have grown to be friends, in spite of the +fact that he is so much older than I am. He's thirty-seven, she told me. +I'm surprised at that. I never thought he's so much older. She mentioned +something, too, about his being rather a gay Don Juan. I don't know +just what she means. I'm sure he's a gentleman. Perhaps she expected me +to tell her what Royal said to me, but how could I do that when I think +it was just an impulsive burst that he's likely to forget by morning. If +he really meant it--but I must stop dreaming all sorts of improbable +dreams! I've had such a glorious time in Philadelphia just living and +singing and working and playing that I wish it hadn't happened. I'm +frightened when I think that any serious questions might confront me +here. + + + _February 10._ + +I guessed right when I thought that Royal would forget that foolish +outburst. He has been perfectly lovely to me, taking me out and buying +me flowers and telling me about his trips, but he hasn't said one word +more of sentimental nature. I'm surely getting my share of fun and +pleasure these days. There are so many things to enjoy, so much to learn +from my fellow-boarders and every one I meet, that the days are all too +short. Between times I'm making a dress and cap for the masquerade +dance. I hate sewing. I lost all love for it during my years of calico +patching. But I don't mind making the dress for I'm eager for the dance, +my first masquerade party. I'm hoping for a good time. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + +DIARY--PLAIN FOR A NIGHT + + + _February 21._ + +LAST night was the masquerade. I wore the plain gray dress, apron and +cape and a white cap on my head. I felt rather like a hypocrite as I +looked at myself in the glass, but Virginia said it was just the thing +and certainly would not be duplicated by any other guest. + +I was dressed early and started down the stairs, my black mask swinging +from my hand. As I rounded a curve in the stairway I glanced casually +down the wide hall. The colored servant had admitted visitors. I looked +in that direction--the mask fell from my hand and I ran down the steps +and into the arms of Mother Bab! I couldn't say more than "Oh, oh!" as I +kissed her over and over. When she got her breath she said happily, +"Phoebe, you're plain!" + +Oh, how it hurt me! I took her and David to a little nook off the +library where we could be alone and then I had to tell her that I was +wearing the plain dress and white cap as a masquerade dress. Even when I +told her I learned to dance and do things she thinks are worldly there +was no look of pain on her face like the look I brought there as I stood +before her in a dress she reverenced and told her I wore it in a spirit +of fun. I'll never get over being sorry for hurting her like that. But +Mother Bab rallies quickly from every hurt. She soon smiled and said she +understood. David came to my aid. He assured his mother that they knew I +could take care of myself and would not do anything really wrong. I +couldn't thank him for his kindness. I felt suddenly all weepy and +tearful. But David began to talk on in his old friendly way and tell +about the home news and about the Big Doctor he had taken Mother Bab to +see in Philadelphia and how he hoped she would soon be able to see +perfectly again. While he talked Mother Bab and I had a chance to +recover a bit. I noted a quick shadow pass over her face as he spoke +about her eyes--was she less hopeful about them than he was? Had the Big +Doctor told her something David did not hear? But no! I dismissed the +thought--Mother Bab could not go blind! She would never be asked to +suffer that! I soon forgot my troublesome thoughts as she hastened to +say that perhaps her eyes would improve more quickly than the doctor +promised. Then she changed the subject--"Now, Phoebe, I hope I didn't +hurt you about the dress. I guess I looked at you as if I wanted to eat +you. I love you and wouldn't hurt you for anything." + +"Mother Bab!" I gave her a real hug like I used to do when I ran +barefooted up the hill with some childish perplexity and she helped me. +"You're an angel! Mother Bab, David, having a good time won't hurt me. +Our views up home are too narrow. It's all right to expect older people +to do nothing more exciting than go to Greenwald to the store, to church +every Sunday, to an occasional quilting or carpet-rag party, and to +Lancaster to shop several times a year, but the younger generation needs +other things." + +"I guess you mean it can't be Lent all the time for you," she suggested +with a smile. + +"I just knew you'd understand." + +Just then Royal began to play and the music floated in to us. It was +Traumerei. Mother Bab's tired face relaxed as she leaned back to listen +to the piercingly sweet melody. David looked at me--I knew he was asking +whether the player was Royal Lee. + +"Oh, Davie," Mother Bab said innocently as the music ended, "if only you +could play like that!" + +"If I could," he said half bitterly, "but all I can do is farm. Are you +coming home this spring?" he asked me, as if to forget the violin and +its player. + +"I don't know. I'll probably stay here until early June. I may go away +with Virginia for part of the summer." + +"Not be home for spring and summer!" he said dismally. "Why, it won't be +spring without you! We can't go for bird-foot violets or arbutus." + +Arbutus--the name called up a host of memories to me. "How I'd like to +go for arbutus this spring," I told him. + +"Then come home in April and I'll take you to Mt. Hope for some." + +"Oh, David, will you?" + +"I'd love to. We'll drive up." + +"I'll come," I promised. "I'll come home for arbutus. Let me know when +they're out." + +"All right. But I think we must go now or we'll miss the train." + +"Go?" I echoed. "You're not going home to-night? Can't you stay? Mrs. +McCrea has vacant rooms. I've been so excited I forgot my manners. Let +me take you to the sitting-room and introduce you to Mrs. Lee and +Royal." + +"Ach, no," Mother Bab protested. "We can't stay that long. We just +stopped in to see you." + +David looked at his watch. "We must go now. There's a train at +eight-twenty-one gets to Lancaster at ten-forty-five and we'll get the +last car out to Greenwald and Phares will meet us and drive us home." + +I asked about the home folks as I watched David adjust Mother Bab's +shawl. He looked older and worried. I suppose he was disappointed +because the Big Doctor didn't promise a quick cure for Mother Bab's +eyes. + +As they said good-bye and left me I wanted to run after them and ask +them to take me home, back to the simple life of my people. But I stayed +where I was, the earthiest worldling in a dress of unworldliness. + +"I--I believe I'll take it off," I thought as I stood in the doorway. + +Just then Royal opened the door and saw me. "Ye Gods!" he exclaimed, +"you look like a saint, Phoebe." + +"But I'm not! I'm far from being a saint!" + +"Don't be one, please. If you turn saint I shall be disconsolate. I +don't like saints of women and I want to keep on liking you, little +Bluebird. Remember, you promised me the first dance." + +"I don't know--I don't feel like dancing." + +"Oh, but you must! You look like a Quakeress but no one expects you to +act like one to-night. I'm going up to dress--I'm going as a monk to +match you." + +He ran off, laughing, and I went in search of Virginia. My heart was +heavy. The sudden appearance of Mother Bab and David brought me a vivid +impression of the contrast between their lives and mine and the thoughts +left me worried and restless. What was I doing? Was I shaping my life in +such a way that it would never again fit into the simple grooves of +country life? The dance lost its charm for me. I danced and made merry +and tried to enter into the gay spirit of the occasion but I longed all +the time to be with Mother Bab and David riding to Lancaster County. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + +DIARY--DECLARATIONS + + + _March 22._ + +SPRING is here but I'd never know it if I didn't read the calendar. I +haven't seen a robin or heard a song-sparrow. Just the same, I've had a +wonderful time these past weeks. Of course my music gets first +attention. I'm getting on well, though I'm beginning to see what a long, +long time it will take before I become a great singer. Since I have +heard really great singers I wonder whether I was not too presumptuous +when I thought I might be one some day. I went to several big churches +lately and heard fine music. + +I thought Lent would be a dull season but it's been gay enough for me. +There has been unusual activity, Virginia says, because of so many +charitable affairs held for the benefit of the war sufferers. + +I bought a new spring hat, a dream. Hope Aunt Maria never asks me what I +paid for it. After wearing Greenwald hats all my life this one was +coming to me. + +But my thoughts are not all of frivolous matters. I have taken advantage +of some of the opportunities Philadelphia offers to improve my mind and +broaden my vision. I've been to lectures and plays and enjoyed them all. + +I asked Royal to-day why he never worked. He laughed and said I was an +inquisitive Bluebird. Then he told me his parents left him enough money +to live without working. He never did a solid hour's real work in his +whole life. With his talent and his personal attractions he might become +a famous musician if he had some odds to fight against or some person to +encourage him and make him do his best. He said he knows he never +developed his talent to the full extent but that since he knows me he is +playing better than he did before. I wonder if I really am an +inspiration to him. I suppose a genius does need a wife or sympathetic +friend to bring out the best in him. He has been so lovely, showing his +fondness for me in many ways, but he has never said anything sentimental +like he did the day we sat by the fire. Sometimes he does say ambiguous +things that I can't understand. He is surely giving me a long time to +think it over. I like him but I'm afraid he's cynical, and it worries +me. + +There are other things, too, to dim the blue these days. War clouds are +threatening. U-boats of Germany are sinking our vessels. Where will it +all end? + + + _April 7._ + +War has been declared. America is in it at last. I came home to-day +feeling disheartened and sad. War was the topic everywhere I went. +Papers, bulletin-boards flaunted the words, "The world must be made safe +for democracy." People on the streets and in cars spoke about it, +newsboys yelled till they were hoarse. + +I stopped to see Virginia but she was out. Royal said he'd entertain me +till she returned. He laughed at my tragic weariness about the war. + +"I'll tell you, Bluebird," he whispered as he sat beside me, "we'll talk +of something better. I love you." + +The fire in his eyes frightened me. I couldn't look at him. "Why do you +say such things?" I asked, and I couldn't keep my voice from trembling. + +That didn't hush him--he said some more. He told me how he loves me, how +he waited for me all his life and wants me with him. He quoted the verse +I like so much, "Thou beside me singing in the wilderness--O wilderness +were Paradise enow!" Then he asked me frankly if I loved him. + +I couldn't answer right away. Now that the thing I had dreamed of was +actually happening I was dazed and stupid and sat like a bump-on-a-log. + +He asked me again and before I knew what he was doing he had taken me +into his arms and kissed me. "Say you love me," he pleaded. + +I said what he wanted to hear and he kissed me again. We were both very +happy. It is almost too wonderful to believe! + +A few minutes later we heard Virginia enter the hall and we came back to +earth. I know my cheeks still burned but Royal's ready poise served him +well. He told his cousin he had been trying to make me forget about the +war. + +Virginia probably thought my excitement was due to the war. She began at +once to speak about it. "America is in it and we can't forget it. Every +true American must help." + +"Do your bit, knit," chanted the musician. + +She asked him if he is going to do his bit. He flushed and looked vexed, +then explained that he can neither knit nor fight, that he is a +musician. + +Virginia argued that if he could play a violin he could learn to play a +bugle, that many of the men who will fight for the flag are men who have +never been taught to fight. She spoke as if she thought Royal should +enlist in some branch of government service at once. + +I resented her words. "Do you want Royal to go to war and be killed?" I +asked her. + +"My dear," she said solemnly, "have you ever heard that there is such a +thing as losing one's life by trying to save it?" + +That startled me. I realized then that the war is going to be a very +serious matter, that there will be work for each one of us to do. But +Royal laughed and made me forget temporarily every solemn, sad thing. He +told Virginia that she was over-zealous, that she need not worry about +him. He'd be a true American and give his money to help protect the +flag. We began to play Bridge then and I thought no more about the war +for an hour or two. + + + _April 12._ + +I have learned to knit. Virginia has taught me and we are elbow-deep in +gray and khaki wool. I have wound it and purled it and worked on the +thing till I'm tasting fuzz. But I do want to do the little bit I can to +help my country. This war _is_ a serious matter. Already people are +talking about who is going to enlist--what if David would go! I hope he +won't--yet I don't want him to be a coward. Oh, it's all too confusing +and terrible to think long about. I try to forget it for a time by +remembering that Royal Lee cares for me. He has told me over and over +that he loves me. Love _must_ be blind, for he thinks I am beautiful and +perfect. I'm glad I look like that to him. We should be happy when we +are married, for we are so congenial, both loving music and things of +beauty. It's queer, though, I have thought of it several times--he has +never mentioned our marriage. I suppose he's too happy in the present to +make plans for the future. But I know he is a gentleman, therefore his +words of love are synonymous with an offer of marriage. All that will +come later. It's enough now just to know we care for each other. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + +DIARY--"THE LINK MUST BREAK AND THE LAMP MUST DIE" + + + _April 13._ + +I'M in sackcloth and ashes. My dream castles have tumbled down upon my +head and left me bruised and sorrowful. I'm awake at last! I'd like to +bury my face in my old red and green patchwork quilt and ask forgiveness +for being a fool. But I must compose myself and write this last chapter +of my romance. + +Last night the "Singer with the Voice of Gold" gave a recital in the +Academy of Music. Royal and I helped to make up a merry box party. I +felt festive and gay in my lovely white crepe georgette gown. Royal said +I looked like a dream and that made me radiant, I know. + +As we sat down I whispered to him that I was excited because hearing +that great singer has always been one of my dearest dreams and now the +dream was coming true. He whispered back that more of my dreams would +soon come true. I made him hush, for several people were looking at us. +But his words sent my heart thrilling. + +The Academy became quiet as the singer appeared, then the audience gave +her a real Brotherly Love welcome and settled once more into silence as +her beautiful voice rose in the place. The operatic selections were +beautifully rendered. I thought her voice was most captivating in the +simple songs everybody knows. Annie Laurie had new charm as she sang it. +When she sang that Royal whispered, "That is what I feel for you." I +smiled into his eyes, then turned again to look at the singer. Could I +ever sing like that? Would the dreams of my childhood come true? It +seemed improbable and yet--I had traveled a long way from the little +girl of the tight braids and brown gingham dresses, I thought. Perhaps +the future would bring still more wonderful changes. + +The hours in the Academy of Music passed like a beautiful dream. I +shrank from the last song, though. It was too much like some fatal, dire +prophecy: + + "The cord is frayed, the cruse is dry, + The link must break, and the lamp must die-- + Good-bye to hope! Good-bye, good-bye!" + +I told Royal I didn't like it, it was too much like Cassandra. + +He laughed and said she generally sings it, but that it couldn't hurt +us--was I superstitious? + +"No, oh, no," I declared. But I wished I could forget the words of that +song. + +Some of the party decided that a proper ending to the delightful evening +would be a visit to a fashionable cafe. I didn't care to go. Royal urged +me till I consented and I soon found myself in a beautiful place where +merry groups of people were seated about small tables. Any desire for +food I might have had left me as I heard Royal and the other men order +wines and highballs. + +"What will you have, Phoebe?" Royal asked me. + +I gasped--"Why--nothing." + +"Be a sport," he urged, "look around and do as the 'Romans do.'" + +I looked around. Some of the women were smoking, others were drinking. + +"Oh," I said, "this is dreadful. Let's go." + +Royal laughed and the others teased me. One of the girls said I'd be +doing all those things before the year ended. When I declared I would +not Royal reminded me that I had said the same about cards and dancing. +His words silenced me. I felt engulfed in shame and deeply hurt. How +could Royal be amused at my discomfiture if he loved me! Did he love me? +Did I want him to? Could I promise to honor and love him all my life? +But perhaps he was teasing me--ah, that was it! I breathed more easily +again. Royal was teasing me, sure of my refusal to indulge in any +intoxicant. The others ate and made merry while I toyed idly with the +glass of ginger ale the waiter brought me against my wish. I mused and +dreamed--would Royal like my people? Somehow, he seemed an incongruity +among the dear ones at the gray farmhouse in Lancaster County. What +would he say when we ate in the kitchen and daddy came to the table in +his shirt sleeves? Love can bridge greater chasms than that, I thought. +When we are married---- + +"Royal Lee, are you ever going to marry?" The question broke into my +revery. + +I looked at Royal. There was no rise of color in his handsome face. He +returned my look dispassionately then turned to his teasing, inquisitive +friend. + +"I'm a bachelor forever," he declared. "But that does not keep me from +loving. Women I care for have too much good sense to think that marriage +always follows love. Ye Gods, I think love goes when marriage comes, so +you'll have no chance to see my love interred." + +I clenched my hands under the table. I felt my lips go white. How could +he hurt me so? Of course our love was not a thing to be paraded in a +public place but if he really cared for me as I thought he did he could +have answered differently. An evasive answer would have served. An hour +ago he had whispered tender words to me and now he frankly informed all +present that he was a bachelor forever. I could not grasp the full +significance of his words at once. I was dazed by the shock of them. I +wanted to get away and be alone, to cry, to think, to determine what he +had meant by his demonstrations of love if he did not hope to win me for +his wife. + +But later, when I went to bed in the pretty blue and white room next +Virginia's, I did not cry. I lay wide awake thinking over and over, "How +could he do it? Why is he heartless? Was he only playing?" + +When morning came I had partially decided that I had been a ready, silly +fool; that Royal Lee had merely whiled the hours away more pleasantly +because of my love. I felt tempted to denounce him but I thought that +would afford him additional amusement and make me not a whit less +miserable. I was eager to get away from him. I desired but one little +moment alone with him to satisfy myself that I did not judge him +unjustly. Fortunately he came to the sitting-room as I sat there staring +at the page of a magazine. + +"Alone?" he asked. + +"Yes." + +"Phoebe"--he drew nearer and I rose and stood away from him. "My +Bluebird! You look unhappy. Are you still shocked at the smoking and +drinking you saw last night? It's all in the game, you know. Why not be +happy along with the rest of us, why be a prude?" + +I shivered. Couldn't he know why I was unhappy! How false and fickle he +was! I wouldn't wear my heart on my sleeve for him to read and laugh +about. All my Metz determination rose in me. + +"Why," I lied, "I'm not unhappy. I'm just tired. Late hours don't agree +with me." + +He stretched out his arm but I eluded him. "Don't," I said lightly; +"we've been foolish long enough." + +"Why"--he looked at me keenly. But I was determined he should not read +my feelings. I smiled in spite of my contempt for him. "Why, Phoebe," he +said tenderly, "what has changed you? Why shouldn't I kiss you when I +love you? Love never hurt any one." + +"No--but----" + +"But what?" he asked. + +"Oh, nothing," I said, stepping farther away from him. "I'm in a hurry +this morning. Good-bye." And for the first time I saw a look of chagrin +mar the handsome face of Royal Lee. Before he could recover his +customary equanimity I was gone from the house. + +I walked, caring not where the way led. My brain was in a whirl. I felt +as though I were fleeing from a crumbling precipice. In a flash I +understood Virginia's tactful attempts at warning. She had tried to make +me understand but my head was too easily turned by the fine speeches and +flattering attentions of the musician. I have been vain and foolish but +I've had my lesson. It still hurts and yet I can see the value of it. +I'll be better qualified after this to discriminate between the false +and true. + +I am going home to-day! It came to me suddenly as I went back to my +boarding-house after my long walk. I promised David I'd come home for +arbutus and the inspiration came to go home for the whole spring and +summer. I'll write a note to Mr. Krause and one to Virginia. Dear +Virginia, she has been so good to me and helped me in so many ways! I +can never thank her enough. These eight months in Philadelphia have been +a liberal education for me. I'll never regret them. I hope to come back +in the fall and go on with the music lessons. By that time Royal Lee +will have found another to make love to. + +So I'm going home to-day, back to Lancaster County. The trees are green +and the flowers are out--oh, I'm wild to get back! + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + +"HAME'S BEST" + + +LANCASTER COUNTY never before looked so fertile, so lovely, as it did +that April day when Phoebe returned to it after a long winter in +Philadelphia. + +As she came unexpectedly there was no one to meet her at Greenwald. She +started across the street and was soon on the dusty road leading to the +gray farmhouse. + +"Let me see," she thought, "this is Friday afternoon and Aunt Maria will +be scrubbing the kitchen floor." + +But when the girl reached the kitchen of the gray house and tiptoed +gently over the sill she found the big room in order and Aunt Maria +absent. + +"Why," she thought, "is Aunt Maria sick?" She opened the door to the +sitting-room and there, seated by a window, was Aunt Maria with a ball +of gray wool in her lap and five steel knitting needles plying in her +hands. + +"Aunt Maria!" + +"Why, Phoebe!" + +The exclamations came simultaneously. + +"What in the world are you doing? I mean why aren't you cleaning the +kitchen? Oh, Aunt Maria, you know what I mean! I never saw you sitting +down early on a Friday afternoon." + +Aunt Maria laughed. "I ain't sick! You can see what I'm doin'; I'm +knittin'. Ain't you learned to do it yet? I can learn you." + +"Why, I know how. But what are you knitting? For the Red Cross?" + +"Why not? You think the ladies in Phildelphy are the only ones do that? +There's a Red Cross in Greenwald and they are askin' all who can to +help. I used to knit all my own stockings still so I thought I'd pitch +right in. I let the cleanin' slide a little this week so I could get a +good start on this once." + +The girl gasped and looked at her aunt in wonder. All the days of her +life she had never known her aunt to "let the cleanin' slide," if the +physical strength were there to do the work. Aunt Maria was working for +the Red Cross! While she, who had scorned the country folks and called +them narrow, had knitted half-heartedly and spent the major part of her +time in the pursuit of pleasure, the people of the little town and +surrounding country had been doing real work for humanity. + +"I think you're splendid, Aunt Maria, to help the Red Cross," she said +with enthusiasm. + +The woman looked up from her knitting. "Why, how dumb you talk! I guess +abody wants to help. Them soldiers are fightin' for us. Now you can get +yourself something to eat. It vonders me, anyhow, why you come home this +time of the year. You said you'd stay till June." + +"I came because I want to be here." + +"So. Then I guess you got enough once of the city." + +"Yes," said Phoebe, laughing. "But how is everybody?" + +"All pretty good. But a lot of boys from round here went a'ready to +enlist. I ain't for war, but I guess it has to come sometimes. But it's +hard for them that has boys." + +"David?" Phoebe asked. "Has he gone?" + +"Ach, no, not him. He's got his mom to take care of." + +Phoebe remembered Virginia's words, "We can't get away from it, we're in +it." The thought of them made her feel depressed. "I'm going to forget +the war," she thought after a moment, "I'm going to forget it for +to-morrow and have one perfect day in the mountains hunting arbutus." + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII + +TRAILING ARBUTUS + + +IT was a balmy day in April when Phoebe and David drove over the country +roads to the mountains where the trailing arbutus grow. + +"Spring o' the year," called the meadow-larks in clear, piercing tones. + +"It is spring o' the year," said Phoebe. "I know it now. But last week I +felt sure that the calendar was wrong and I wondered whether God made +only English sparrows this year; that was all I could see. Then I saw a +few birds early this week when we went along the Wissahickon for a long +walk. Oh, no," she said in answer to the unspoken question in his eyes, +"I did not go alone with a man. In Philadelphia one does not do that. I +went properly chaperoned by Mrs. Hale. Virginia and Royal and several +others were in the party. You should have been there; you would have +enjoyed it for you know so much about birds and flowers. Royal didn't +know a spring beauty from a bloodroot, and when we heard a song-sparrow +he said it was a thrush." + +David threw back his head and laughed. "Some nature student he must be! +But it must be fine along the Wissahickon. I have read about it." + +"It is fine, but this is finer." + +"You better say so!" + +"Oh, look, David, the soil is pink!" She pointed to a tilled field whose +soil was colored a soft old rose color. "I'm always glad to see the pink +soil." + +"So am I. It means that we are getting near the mountains. We'll drive +over to Hull's tavern and leave the carriage there, then we can go to +the patch of woods near the tavern where we used to find the great +beauties, the fine big ones. There's the old tavern now." He pointed to +a building with a fine background of wooded hills. + +Hull's tavern, a rambling structure erected in 1812, is still an +interesting stopping-place for summer excursionists and travelers +through that mountainous section of Pennsylvania. Situated on the south +side of the beautiful South Mountains and overlooking the richest of +hills, it has long been a popular roadhouse, accommodating many pleasure +parties and hikers. + +Phoebe wandered about on the long porches while David took the horse to +the stable. + +"Now then," he said as he joined her, "give me the lunch box and we'll +be off." + +They walked a short distance in the loamy soil of the mountain road and +then turned aside and scrambled up a steep bank to a tract of woodland. +Phoebe sank on her knees in the dry, brown leaves and pushed aside the +leaves. "There," she cried in triumph a moment later, "I found the first +one!" She lifted a small cluster of trailing arbutus and gave it to +David. + +"Um-ah," he said, in imitation of a little girl of long ago. + +"Little Dutchie," she answered. "But you can't provoke me to-day. I'm +too happy to be peevish. Come, kneel down, you'll never find arbutus +when you stand up." + +"I'm down," he said as he knelt beside her. "I'd go on my knees to find +arbutus any day." + +"So would I---- Oh, look at this--and this! They are perfect." She +fairly trembled with joy as she uncovered the waxlike flowers of dainty +pink and white. "I could bury my nose in them forever." + +"They are perfect," agreed the man. "Fancy living where you never saw +any arbutus or had the joy of picking them." + +"I don't want to fancy that, it's too delicious being where they do +grow. Won't Mother Bab love them?" + +"Yes. She'll keep them for days in water. That flower you gave her in +Philadelphia lasted four days." + +"These are better," Phoebe said quickly, anxious to shut out all +thoughts of the city. Now that she was in the woods again she knew how +hungry she had been for them. "I am going to pick a bunch of big ones +for Mother Bab." + +"She would like the small ones every whit as much," the man declared. + +"Perhaps better," she mused. "She would say they are just as sweet and +pretty. David, I don't know what I should have done without Mother Bab! +My life was different, somehow, after she allowed me to adopt her." + +"She's great, isn't she?" + +"Wonderful! I have many friends, many new ones, many dear ones, but +there is only one Mother Bab." + +The man's hands trembled among the arbutus--did the admiration touch +Mother Bab's son? Could the dreams of his heart ever come true? + +"You know," Phoebe went on, "if I could always have her near me, in the +same house, I'd be less unworthy of calling her Mother Bab." + +It was well that she bent over the dry leaves and blossoms and missed +the look that flooded the face of the man for a moment. She wanted to be +with Mother Bab--should he tell her of his love? But the very fact that +she spoke thus was evidence that she did not love him as he desired. And +the war must change his most cherished plans for the future, change them +greatly for a time. If he went and never returned it would be harder for +her if he went as her lover. As it was he was merely her old comrade and +friend; he could read from her manner that no deeper feeling had touched +her--not for him, but he wondered about the musician---- + +The spell was broken when Phoebe spoke again: "Do you know, Davie, I +read somewhere that arbutus can't be made to grow anywhere except in its +own woods, that the most skilful hand of man or woman can't transplant +it to a garden where the soil is different from its native soil." + +"I never heard that before, but I remember that I tried several times +and failed. I dug up a big box of the soil to make it grow, but it +lasted several months and died. Let us go along this path and find a +new bed; we have almost cleaned this one." + +"See"--she raised her bunch of flowers--"I didn't take a single root, so +next year when we come we shall find as many as this year. They are too +altogether lovely to be exterminated." + +They moved about the woods, finding new patches of the fragrant flowers, +until they declared it would be robbery to take another one. + +"Let's eat," she suggested; "I'm hungry as a bear." + +"Race you to that big rock," cried David and began to run. Phoebe +followed through the brush and dry leaves, but the farmer covered the +distance too quickly for her. + +"Now I'm hungry," she said, panting; "I'll eat more than my share of the +lunch." + +She climbed to the top of the boulder and they sat side by side, the +lunch box resting on David's knees. + +"Now anything you want ask for," said he. + +"I will not!" She delved into the box and brought out a sandwich. "It's +mine as much as yours." + +"Going in for Woman's Suffrage and Rights and the like?" he asked, +laughing. + +"Ugh," she wrinkled her nose, "don't mention things like that to-day. I +don't want to hear about war or work or problems or anything but just +pure joy this day! I earned this perfect day this year. This is to be a +day of all-joy for us. Have another sandwich? I'm going to--this makes +only four more left for each. Aunt Maria knew what she was doing when +she made me take this big box of lunch for just us two. Now, aren't you +glad that I brought lunch in a box instead of eating our dinner at +Hull's as you suggested?" she said as she kicked her feet, little girl +fashion, against the side of the boulder. + +"Of course I am glad. I was afraid you might like dinner at the tavern +better, that is why I suggested it." + +"Don't you know me better than that? Why, we can eat in dining-rooms +three hundred and sixty-four days in every year. This is one day when we +eat in the birds' dining-room." + +"I am enjoying it, Phoebe. It is the first picnic I have had for a long +time. I can't tell how I'm drinking in the joy of it." + +"Now," said Phoebe later, when the last crumb had been taken out of the +lunch box, "we can pack the arbutus in this box. If you find some damp +moss I'll arrange them." + +She laid the flowers on the cushion of moss, covered them with a few +damp leaves and closed the box. "That will keep them fresh," she said. +"Now for our drink of mountain water, then home again." + +Farther in the woods they found the spring. In a little cove edged with +laurel bushes and overhung with chestnut trees and tall oaks it sent up +a bubbling fountain of cold water. + +"I'm sorry the picnic is over," said Phoebe as she leaned over the clear +water and drank the cold draught. + +"There is still the lovely drive home," he consoled her. + +"Yes," she said as they turned and walked back through the woods to the +road again, "and I shall remember this day for a long time. In the +spring it's dreadful to be shut in the city." + +"I believe you are growing tired of Philadelphia." + +"Yes and no. I love the many things to do and see there, but on a day +like this I think the country is the place to really enjoy the spring. I +wish you could come down some time to the city; there are many places of +interest you would like to visit." + +"Yes." He opened his lips to tell her that he was soon to be in the +service of his country, then he remembered that she had said she did not +want to hear the word war on that day, it must be a day of all joy, so +he closed his mouth resolutely and merely smiled in answer as she +entered the carriage for the ride home. They spoke of many things; she +was gay with the childish happiness she always felt in the woods or open +country roads. He answered her gaiety, but his heart ached. What did the +future hold for him? Would she, perchance, love another before he could +return--would he return? + +"Look," Phoebe said after they had driven several miles, "it is going to +storm--see how dark! We are going to have an April storm." + +Even as they looked up black clouds moved swiftly across the sky. They +turned and looked toward the mountains behind them--the summits were +shrouded in dense blackness; the whole countryside was being enveloped +in a gloom like the gloom of late twilight. There was an ominous silence +in the air, living things of the fields and woods scurried to shelter; +only a solitary red-headed woodpecker tapped noisily upon a dead tree +trunk. + +Suddenly sharp flashes of lightning darted in zigzag rays through the +gloom. + +Phoebe gripped the side of the carriage. "The storm is following us," +she said. "Look at the hills--they are black as night. Can we get home +before the storm breaks over us?" + +"Hardly. It travels faster than we can, and we still have four more +miles to go." + +The horse sniffed the air through inflated nostrils and sped unbidden +over the country road. The lightning grew more vivid and blinding and +darted among the hills with greater frequency; loud peals of thunder +echoed and reechoed among the mountains. Then the rain came. In great +splashes, which increased rapidly, it poured its cool torrents upon the +earth. + +Phoebe laughed but David shook his head. "We'll have to stop some place +till it's over. You're getting wet. I'll drive in this barnyard." + +Amid the deafening crashes of thunder and the steady downpour of rain +they ran through the barnyard and up the path that led to the house. As +they stepped upon the porch a door was opened and a woman appeared. + +"Why, come right in!" she greeted them. "This is a bad storm." + +"If you don't mind," Phoebe began, but the woman was talkative and broke +in, "Now, I just knowed there'd be company come to-day yet! This after +when I dried the dishes I dropped a knife and fork and that's a sure +sign. Mebbe you don't believe in signs?" + +"They come true sometimes," said Phoebe. + +"Ach, yes, my granny used to plant her garden by the signs in the +almanac. Cabbage, now, must be planted in the up-sign. But mebbe you're +hungry after your drive? I'll get some cake." + +"We had lunch----" + +"Ach, if your man's like mine he can eat cake any time." She opened a +door that led to the cellar and soon returned with a plate piled high +with cake. "Now eat," she invited. "But, ach, I just thought of it--you +said you come from Greenwald--then I guess you know about Caleb Warner +dying, killing himself, or something." + +"Caleb Warner dying!" David echoed. He half started from his chair, then +sank with a visible effort at self-control. + +"Yes. I guess you know him. My mister was in to dinner a while ago and +he said it went over the 'phone at Risser's and Jacob Risser told him +that Caleb Warner of Greenwald was dead. It was from gas or something +funny like that. It's the Warner that sold that oil stock and gold +stock. You know him?" + +David nodded, his lips dry. + +"Well, I guess now a lot of people will lose money. There's a lady lives +near here that gave him almost all her money for some of his stock. For +a while she got big interest from it, but then it stopped and now she +ain't got hardly enough money to live. And I guess a lot will lose +money. My mister had no time for that stock. But if the man's dead now +we should let him rest, I guess." + +"Yes----" David braced himself. "The rain is over. Phoebe, we must go." + +He smiled to the little woman as he gripped her hand. "You have been +very kind to us and we appreciate it." + +"Yes, indeed," echoed Phoebe. "I hope we have not kept you from your +work." + +"Ach, I can work enough to-day yet. I like company and I don't have much +of it week-days. Um, ain't it good smelly after the rain?" She sniffed, +smiling, as she followed Phoebe and David down the path to the barnyard. + +"Good-bye," she called as they drove off. "Safe home." + +"Thank you. Good-bye," Phoebe called over the side of the carriage. +Then, as they entered again upon the country road, she turned to her +place beside David. + +She looked up at him. All the light and joy had faded from his face; he +stared straight head, though he must have felt her eyes' intent gaze +upon him. + +"David," she said softly, "what is wrong?" + +"Nothing," he lied. + +"Seems you look different," she persisted. "Is it anything about Caleb +Warner's death?" + +"I'm not much of a stoic, Phoebe. I should have hidden my worry. But you +must forget it; we must not let it spoil our perfect day. It really is +no great matter. I am affected, in some way you can't know, by his +death, but I'll get over it," he tried to treat the matter lightly. + +But Phoebe felt a sudden heaviness of heart. She was almost certain that +David had had no money to buy any stock from Caleb Warner, therefore, +she jumped to the conclusion, it must be that David cared for Mary +Warner, as town gossip said he did, and that the death of the girl's +father would affect him. She felt hurt and baffled and sorely rebuffed +at the withholding of David's confidence and was worried as she saw the +marks of worry in the face of the man. Womanlike, she felt certain that +the other girl was not good enough for David. Mary Warner, beautiful, +aristocratic in bearing and manner--what had she to do with a man like +David Eby! Was an incipient engagement with Mary Warner the Aladdin's +lamp David had mentioned several times as being on the verge of rubbing +and thus become rich? The thought left her trembling; she shivered in +the April sunshine. When David spoke it was with an abstracted manner, +and the girl beside him finally said, "Oh, don't let us talk. Let us +just sit and look at the fields and enjoy the scenery." + +She said it calmly enough, but the man beside her could not know that it +required the last shreds of her courage to keep her voice from breaking. +She would not let David see that she cared if he did care for Mary +Warner! Of course, she didn't want to marry him, it was merely that she +knew Mary was too haughty for him. Mother Bab would also say that he was +too different from Mary, that he was too fine for her. Then she +remembered that Mother Bab had said on the previous evening that the +Warners had taken David to Hershey recently in their fine new car. She +shook herself in an effort at self-control. "Phoebe," she thought, +"you're selfish! You go to Philadelphia and you go out with Royal Lee +and dance with other young men, and yet, when David pays attention to +another girl you have a spasm!" + +But the self-administered discipline failed to correct her attitude. She +knew their day of all-joy was changed for her as it had been changed for +David. The jealousy in her heart could not be quite overcome. She was +glad when they reached familiar fields and were on the road near +Greenwald. + +"Will you come in?" she invited as she left the carriage. + +"No. I better go right home." + +"I'll divide the flowers, David." + +"Oh, keep them all." + +"No, indeed. Mother Bab would be disappointed if you brought her none." + +She opened the box, separated half of the arbutus from their mates and +laid them in the uplifted corner of her coat. "There," she said, "the +rest are yours and Mother Bab's. It was perfect in the woods to-day. +Thank you----" + +But he interrupted her. "It is I who must say that, Phoebe! This has +been a great day. I'll never forget the glorious hour when we were on +our knees and pushed away the leaves and found the arbutus. That is +something to take with one, to remember when the days are not perfect as +this one." + +He laid his fingers a moment on her hand as she held the corner of her +coat to keep the flowers from falling, then he turned and jumped into +the carriage. + +"Give my love to Mother Bab," she said. + +He turned, smiled and nodded, then started off. Phoebe stood at the gate +and watched the carriage as it went slowly up the steep road by the +hill. Her thoughts were with the man who was going home to his mother, +going with trailing arbutus in his hands and some great unhappiness in +his heart. + +"Is it always so?" she thought. "We carry fragrance in our hands, but +what in our hearts?" For the time she was once more the old sympathetic, +natural Phoebe, eager to help her friend in need, feeling the divine +longing to comfort one who was miserable. "Oh, Davie, Davie," she +thought as she went into the house, "I wish I could help you." + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII + +MOTHER BAB AND HER SON + + +WHEN David drove over the brow of the hill and down the green lane to +the little house he called home he caught sight of his mother in her +garden. He whistled. At the sound Mother Bab rose from the soft earth in +which she was working and straightened, smiling. She raised a hand to +shade her eyes and waited for the coming of her boy, dreaming of a +possible separation from him, dreaming long mother-dreams while he took +the horse and carriage to the barn. + +When he returned he had mustered all his courage and was smiling--he +would be a stoic as long as he could, but he knew that his mother would +soon discover that all was not well with him. + +"Here, mother." He gave her the box of arbutus. + +"Then you got some, Davie!" She buried her face in the cool, sweet +blossoms. "Oh, how sweet they are! Did you and Phoebe have a good time? +Did she enjoy it as much as she always used to enjoy a day in the +woods?" + +She looked up suddenly from the flowers and caught him unawares. "What +is wrong?" she asked with real concern. "Did you and Phoebe fall out?" + +"No," he shook his head. He knew that attempts at subterfuge and evasion +would be vain. "No, mommie, no use trying to deceive you any longer--I +fell out with myself--I wish I could keep it from you," he added slowly; +"I know it's going to hurt you." + +"You tell me, Davie. I've lived sixty years and never yet met a trouble +I couldn't live through. Tell me about it." + +She placed the box of arbutus in the garden path and laid her hand on +his arm. + +"Oh, mommie," he blurted out, almost sobbing, "I'm ashamed of myself! +You'll be ashamed of your boy." + +"It's no girl----" the mother hesitated. + +He answered with a vehement, "No!" + +"Then tell me," she said softly. "I can look in your eyes and hear you +tell me most anything so long as you need not tell me that you have +broken the heart or spoiled the soul of a girl." + +She spoke gently, but the man cried out, "Thank God, I have nothing like +that to confess! You know there is only one girl for me. I could never +look into her eyes if I had betrayed the trust of any girl. I have +dreamed of growing into a man she could love and marry, but I failed. I +wanted to offer her more than slavery on a farm, I wanted to have +something more than the few hundreds I scraped together. I took the five +hundred dollars we skimped for and bought stock of Caleb Warner--you +heard that he died?" + +"Phares told me." + +"I guess the five hundred dollars is gone with him! I heard of other +men getting rich by buying gold and oil stock so I took a chance and +staked all the spare money I had." + +"It was your money, Davie." + +"You called it mine, but you helped to earn and save it. Caleb promised +me he would sell half of the stock for me at a great profit in a week or +two, and I could keep the other half for the big dividends it would pay +me soon--now he's dead, and the stock is probably worthless." + +He looked miserably at her troubled face. She flung her arm about him +and led him to a seat under the budded cherry tree. "We must sit down +and talk it over," she said. "Perhaps it isn't so bad as you think. Are +you sure the stock is worth nothing? Perhaps you can get something out +of it." + +"Perhaps I can." He brightened at the suggestion. + +"Well," she went on, "I can't say that I think you did right to buy the +stock and try to get rich quick. You know that money gotten that way is +tainted money, more or less. To earn what you have and have a little is +better and safer than to have much and get it in such a way. But it's +too late to preach about that now--I guess I didn't tell you that often +enough and hard enough before this, or else you wouldn't have wanted to +buy the stock. It is partly my fault, for I thought some time ago you +talked as though you were getting the money craze, but I thought it +would soon wear off. You did a foolish thing, but there's no use crying +about it. You see you did wrong and are sorry, so that is all there is +to it. I'm not sorry you lost on the stock, for if you made on it the +craze would go deeper. I can live without the few extra things that +money would buy." + +"Don't be so forgiving, mother! Scold me! I'd feel less like a criminal. +But here comes Phares; he'll give me the scolding you're saving me." + +The preacher crossed the lawn and advanced to the seat under the cherry +tree. + +"Aunt Barbara," he began, then noted the troubled look on the face of +David and asked, "What is wrong?" + +"Nothing," said David, "except that I have some of Caleb Warner's +stock." + +"You do? Whatever made you buy that?" + +David spoke as calmly as possible. "I wanted to be rich, that's all. But +I guess I was never intended to be that." + +"I'm afraid you are going to be sorry," said the preacher very soberly. +"I just came from town and they say things look bad for the investors. +They said first that Warner was asphyxiated accidentally, but he was so +deep in a hole with investing and re-investing other people's money and +his own and he had lost so much that people think this was the easiest +way out of it all for him. I suppose it will be hushed up and no one +will ever know just how he died. There are at least twenty people in +town and farms near here who are worried about their money since he +died. Did you have much stock?" + +"Five hundred dollars' worth." + +"If people were as eager to lay up treasures in heaven----" the preacher +said thoughtfully. + +"If they were," said David, struggling to keep the wrath from his words +and voice. "I know, Phares, you can't understand why everybody should +not be as good as you. I wish I were--mother should have had a son like +you. I'm the black sheep of the Eby family, I suppose." + +"No, no!" cried Mother Bab. "We all make mistakes! You are good and +noble, David. I am proud of you, even if you do err sometimes." + +"We must make the best of it," said the preacher. "Perhaps the stock is +not quite worthless. If I were you I'd go to the lawyer in Lancaster. +He'll see you at his house if you 'phone in." + +"Mighty good to think of that for me," said David, gripping the hand of +his cousin. "I'll go in to-night." + +Several hours later David Eby sat before a lawyer and waited for the +verdict. "I'm sorry," the lawyer shook his head. "The stock is +worthless. Six months ago you might have sold it; now it's dead as a +door-nail." + +"Guess it was a wildcat scheme," said David. + +A few minutes later he went out to the street. His Aladdin's lamp was +smashed! What a fool he had been! + +When he reached home Mother Bab read the news in his face. "Never mind," +she said bravely, "we'll get along without that money." + +"Yes--but"--David spoke slowly, as if fearing to hurt her further--"I +hoped to have a nice bank account for you to draw on when--when I go." + +"You mean----" Mother Bab stopped suddenly. Something choked her, but +she faced him squarely and looked up into his face. + +"Yes, mother, I mean that I must go. You want me to go, don't you?" + +"Yes." The word came slowly, but David knew how truly she felt it. "You +must go. I knew it right away when I saw that we were called of God to +help in the fight for world peace and righteousness. You must go; there +is nothing to keep you. Phares will look after the little farm. I spoke +to him about it last week----" + +"Mother, you knew then!" + +"I saw it in your face as soon as war was declared. Phares was lovely +about it and said he could just as well take your few acres in with his +and pay a percentage to me for the crops he'll get from them. Phares is +kind; he has a big heart, for all his queer ways and his strict views." + +"Phares is too good to be related to me, mommie. I'm ashamed of myself." + +"Ach, you two are just different, that's all. I can go over and stay at +their house. Did you tell Phoebe you are going?" + +He shook his head. "I couldn't tell her yesterday. We had such a great +day in the woods finding the arbutus, eating our lunch on a rock and +acting just like we used to when we were ten years younger. She never +mentioned war and I could not seem to break into that day of gladness +to speak about the subject. I meant to tell her all about it when we got +home, but then that storm came up and we stopped at a farmhouse and I +heard about Caleb Warner. It struck me so hard I was just no good after +that. I'll be a dandy soldier, won't I?" + +He laughed and took the little woman in his arms. When, some moments +later, he held the white-capped mother at arms' length and smiled into +her face neither knew if the wet lashes were caused by laughter or +tears. + +"Some soldier you'll make," she said as she looked at him, tall, broad +of shoulder, straight of spine. "Some soldier or sailor you'll make!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX + +PREPARATIONS + + +THE days following the death of Caleb Warner were days of anxiety to +other inhabitants of the little town who, like David, had purchased +stock with glorious visions of sudden gain. In a short time the list of +Warner's unfortunate investors was known and they were accorded various +degrees of sympathy, rebuke or ridicule. The thing that hurt David was +not so much the knowledge that some were speaking of him in condemnation +or pity as the fact that he merited the condemnation. + +But he had neither time nor inclination for self-pity. His country was +calling for his services and he knew his duty was to offer himself. He +could not conscientiously say his mother had urgent need of him for he +knew that the little farm would supply enough for her maintenance. + +Phares Eby, although a preacher among a sect who, as a sect, could not +sanction the bearing of arms, accepted the decision of his cousin with +no show of disapproval. "I don't believe in wars," he said gravely, "but +there seems to be no other way this time. One of the Eby family should +go. I'll be glad to keep up your farm and help look after your mother +while you are gone. The most I can do here will be less than you are +going to do, but I'll raise the best crops I can and help in the food +end of it." + +"You'll do your part here, Phares, and it will count. You're a bona-fide +farmer. You'll have our little place a record farm when I get back. +You're a brick, Phares!" For the first time in months he felt a genuine +affection for his preacher cousin. Preaching, prosaic Phares, how kind +he was! + +Lancaster County measured up to its fair standard in those first trying +days of recruit gathering. The sons of the nation answered when she +called. Pennsylvania Dutch, hundreds of them, rallied round the flag and +proved beyond a doubt that the real Pennsylvania Dutch are not +German-American, but loyal, four-square Americans who are keeping the +faith. Two hundred years ago the ancestors of the present Pennsylvania +Dutch came to this country to escape tyranny, and the love of freedom +has been transmitted from one generation to another. The plain sects, so +flourishing in some portions of the Keystone State, consider war an +evil, yet scores of men in navy blue and army khaki have come from homes +where the mother wears the white cap, and have gone forth to do their +part in the struggle for world freedom. + +As David Eby measured the days before his departure he felt grateful to +Mother Bab for refraining from long homilies of advice. Her whole life +was a living epistle of truth and nobility and she was wise enough to +discern that what her son wanted most in their last days together was +her customary cheerfulness--although he knew that at times the +cheerfulness was a bit bluffed! + +News travels fast, even in rural communities. The people on the Metz +farm soon learned of David's loss of money and of his desire to enter +the navy. + +"Why didn't you tell me about the stock?" Phoebe chided him. + +"I couldn't. It knocked me out--it changed some of my plans. I knew +you'd despise me and I couldn't stand that too that day." + +"Despise you! How foolish to think that. Of course it's better to earn +your money, but I think you learned your lesson." + +"I have. I'll never try to get rich quick." + +"And you're going to war!" The words were almost a cry. "What does +Mother Bab say? How dreadful for her!" + +"Dreadful?" he asked gently. "Phoebe, think a minute--would you rather +be the mother of a soldier or sailor than the mother of a slacker?" + +"I would," she cried. "A thousand times rather!" She clutched his sleeve +in her old impetuous manner. "I see now what it means, what war must +mean to us! We must serve and be glad to do it. Your going is making it +real for me. I'm proud of you and I know Mother Bab must be just about +bursting with pride, for she always did think you are the grandest son +in the wide world." + +"Phoebe, you always stroke me with the grain." + +"That sounds as if you were a wooden pussy-cat," she said merrily. "But +you are just being funny to hide your deeper feelings. I know you, +David Eby! Bet your heart's like lead this minute!" + +"'I have no heart,'" he quoted. "'The place where my heart was you could +roll a turnip in.'" + +She laughed, then suddenly grew sober. "I've been horribly selfish," she +said. "Having fine clothes and a good time and dreaming of fame through +my voice have taken all my time during the past winter. I have taken +only the husks of life and discarded the kernels. I'm ashamed of +myself." + +"You mustn't condemn yourself too much. It's natural to pass through a +period when those things seem the greatest things in the world, but if +we do not shake off their influence and see the need of having real +things to lay hold on we need to be jolted. I was money-mad, but I had +my jolt." + +"Then we can both make a fresh beginning. And we'll try hard to be +worthy of Mother Bab, won't we, David?" + +David was mute; he could merely nod his head in answer. Worthy of Mother +Bab--what a goal! How sweet the name sounded from Phoebe's lips! Should +he tell her of his love for her? He looked into her face. Her eyes were +like clear blue pools but they mirrored only sisterly affection, he +thought. Ah, well, he would be unselfish enough to go away without +telling of the hope of his heart. If he came back there would be ample +time to tell her; it was needless to bind her to a long-absent lover. If +he came back crippled--if he never came back at all---- Oh, why delve +into the future! + + + + +CHAPTER XXX + +THE FEAST OF ROSES + + +IN the little town of Greenwald there is performed each year in June an +interesting ceremony, the Feast of Roses. + +The origin of it dates back to the early colonial days when wigwam fires +blazed in many clearings of this great land and Indians, fashioned after +the similitude of bronze images, stole among the stalwart trees of the +primeval forests. In those days, about the year 1762, a tract of land +containing the present site of the little town of Greenwald fell into +the hands of a German, who was so charmed by the fertility and beauty of +the fields encircled by the winding Chicques Creek that he laid out a +town and proceeded to build. The erection of those early houses entailed +much labor. Bricks were imported from England and hauled from +Philadelphia to the new town, a distance of almost one hundred miles. + +Some time later the founder built a glass factory in the new town, +reputed to have been the first of its kind in America. Skilled workmen +were imported to carry on the work, and marvelously skilful they must +have been, as is proven by the articles of that glass still extant. It +is delicately colored, daintily shaped, when touched with metal it +emits a bell-like ring, and altogether merits the praise accorded it by +every connoisseur of rare and beautiful glass. + +Tradition claims that the founder of that town was of noble birth, but +his right to a title is not an indisputable fact. It is known, however, +that he lived in baronial style in his new town. His red brick mansion +was a treasure house of tapestries, tiles and other beautiful +furnishings. + +However, whether he was a baron or an untitled man, he merits a share of +admiration. He was founder of a glass factory, builder of a town, +founder of iron works, religious and secular instructor of his employees +and citizens, and earnest philanthropist. + +The last role resulted in his financial embarrassment. There is an +ominous silence in the story of his life, then comes the information +that the man who had done so much for others was left at last to +languish in a debtors' jail, die unbefriended and be buried in an +unknown grave. + +In the days of his prosperity he gave to the congregation of the +Lutheran Church in his town a choice plot of ground, the consideration +being the sum of five shillings and an annual rental of one red rose in +June. + +Years passed, the man died, and either through forgetfulness or +negligence the annual rental of one red rose was unpaid for many years. +Then, one day a layman of the church found the old deed and the people +prepared to pay the long-neglected debt once more. Since that renewal +there is set apart each June a Sabbath day upon which the rose is paid +to the nearest descendant of the founder of the town. They give but one +red rose, but all around are roses, roses, and it seems most fitting to +call the unique occurrence the Feast of Roses. + +If ever the little town puts on royal garb it is on the Feast of Roses +Sabbath. For days before the ceremony the homes of Greenwald are +beehives of industry. That day each train and trolley, every country +road, is crowded with strangers or old acquaintances coming into the +town. A heterogeneous crowd swarms through the street. The curious +visitor who comes to see, the dreamer who is attracted by the romance of +the rose, the careless youth who rubs his sleeve against some portly +judge or senator; the tawdry, the refined, the rich, the poor--all meet +in the crowd that moves to the red brick church in which the Feast of +Roses is held. + +The old church of that early day has been removed and in its place a +modern one has been erected, but by some happy inspiration of the +builders the new church is devoid of the garish ornamentation that is +too often found in churches. Harmonious coloring, artistic beauty, make +it a fitting place for a Feast of Roses. + +When Phoebe Metz entered the church to keep her promise to sing at the +service she found an eager crowd waiting for the opening. Every +available space was occupied; people stood in the rear aisles, others +waited in the churchyard by the open windows and hoped to catch there +some stray parts of the service. + +Phoebe pushed her way gently through the crowd at the door and stood in +the aisle until an usher saw her and directed her to a seat near the +organ. The pink in her cheeks grew deeper. "I'll sing my best for +Greenwald and the Feast of Roses," she thought. "And for David! He's in +the crowd. He said he's coming to hear me sing." + +At the appointed hour the pipe-organ pealed out. The June sunlight +streamed through the open windows, fell upon the banks of roses, and +gleamed upon the fountain that played in the midst of the crimson +flowers. Peace brooded over the place as the last strains of music died. +There was silence for a moment, then a prayer, a hymn of adoration, and +then the chosen speaker stood before the crowd and delivered his +message. + +Phoebe listened to him until he uttered the words, "True life must be +service, true love must be giving. No man has reached true greatness +save he serves, and he who serves most faithfully is greatest in the +kingdom." + +After those words she fell to thinking. Many things that had been dark +to her suddenly became light. She seemed to see Royal Lee fiddling while +the world was in travail, but beside him rose a vision of David in +sailor's blue, ready to do his whole duty for his country. + +"Oh," she thought, "I've been blind, but now I see! It's David I want. +He's a man!" + +She heard as in a dream the words of the one who presented the red rose +to the heir. "Once more the time has come to pay our debt of one red +rose. It is with cheerfulness and reverence we pay our rental. Amid +these bright surroundings, in the presence of the many who have come to +witness this unique ceremony, do we give to you in partial payment of +the debt we owe--ONE RED ROSE." + +The heir received the flower and expressed her appreciation. Then +silence settled upon the place and Phoebe rose to sing. + +As the organ sent forth the opening strains of music the people in the +church looked at each other, surprised, disappointed. Why, that was the +old tune, "Jesus, Lover of my soul." The tune they had heard sung +hundreds of times--was Phoebe going to sing that? With so many +impressive selections to choose from no soloist need sing that old hymn! +Some of the town people thought disdainfully, "Was that all she could +sing after a whole winter's study in Philadelphia!" + +But Phoebe sang the old words to the old tune. She sang them with a new +power and sweetness. It touched the listeners in that rose-scented +church and revealed to them the meaning of the old hymn. The dependence +upon a divine guide, the utter impotence of mortal strength, breathed so +persuasively in the second verse that many who heard Phoebe sing it +mentally repeated the words with her. + + "Other refuge have I none, + Hangs my helpless soul on Thee: + Leave, ah! leave me not alone, + Still support and comfort me; + All my trust on Thee is stayed; + All my help from Thee I bring; + Cover my defenceless head + With the shadow of Thy wing." + +Then the hymn changed--hope displaced hopelessness, faith surmounted +fear. + + "Plenteous grace with Thee is found, + Grace to cleanse from every sin; + Let the healing streams abound, + Make and keep me pure within; + Thou of life the fountain art, + Freely let me take of Thee: + Spring Thou up within my heart, + Rise to all eternity." + +The people in that rose-scented church heard the old hymn sung as they +had never heard it sung before. A subdued hum of approval swept over the +church as the girl sat down. She felt that she had sung well; her heart +was in a tumult of happiness. She was glad when one man rose and lifted +his hands in benediction. + +Again the organ throbbed with glad melodies. The eager crowd fell into +line and walked slowly to the altar to lay their roses there. Children +with half withered blossoms, maidens with bunches of crimson flowers, +here and there a stranger with gorgeous hot-house roses, older men and +women with the products of the gardens of the little town--all moved to +the spot where lay a bank of fragrant roses and placed their tributes +there. + +Phoebe added her roses to the others on the altar and left the church. +Friends and acquaintances stopped to tell her how well she sang. But the +words that one short year ago would have filled her with overwhelming +pride in her own talent were soon crowded from her thoughts and there +reigned there the words of the speaker, "No man has reached true +greatness save he serves." She had learned great things at that Feast of +Roses service. She had looked deep into her own heart and on its throne +she had found David. + +He was waiting for her outside the church. + +"You sang fine, Phoebe," he told her as they went down the street +together. + +"Yes? I'm glad you liked it." + +Then they spoke of other things, of many things, but not one word of the +thoughts lying deepest in the heart of each. + +Aunt Maria and Jacob were eating supper in the big kitchen when Phoebe +reached home. + +"Well," greeted the aunt, "did you come once! We thought that Feast of +Roses would been out long ago. But when you didn't come for so long and +supper was made we sat down a while. Did you sing?" + +"Yes," the girl said as she removed her hat and gloves and drew a chair +to the table. + +"Now," cautioned the aunt, "put your apron on! That light goods in your +dress is nothin' for wear; everything shows on it so. And if you spill +red-beet juice or something on it it'll be spoiled." + +"I forgot." Phoebe took a blue gingham apron from a hook behind the +kitchen door. "There, if I spoil it now you may have it for a rug." + +"Well, I guess that would be housekeepin'! And everything so high since +the war!" + +"Tell me about the Feast of Roses," said the father. "Was the church +full?" + +"Packed! It was a beautiful service." + +"Well," spoke up Aunt Maria, "I'm glad it's over and so are many people. +Of course that Feast of Roses don't do no harm, but I think it's so dumb +to have all this fuss just to give somebody a rose. If that man wanted +to give the church some land why didn't he give it and done with it? +It's no use to have this pokin' around every year to find the best red +rose to give to some man or lady that's related to him. The rose withers +right away, anyhow. And this Feast of Roses makes some people a lot of +bother. I heard one woman say in the store that she has to get ready for +a lot of company still for every person she knows, most, comes to visit +her that Sunday and she's got to cook and wash dishes all day. I guess +she's glad it's over for another year." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI + +BLINDNESS + + +DAVID EBY had spent the day at Lancaster and returned to Greenwald at +seven-thirty. He started with springing step out the country road in the +soft June twilight. It was a twilight pervaded by blended perfumes and +the sleepy chirp of birds. David drew in deep breaths of the fresh +country air. + +"Lancaster County," he said aloud to himself, "and it's good enough for +me!" + +Scarcely slackening his pace he started up the long road by the hill. He +paused a moment on the summit and looked back at the town of Greenwald, +then almost ran down the road to his home. + +He whistled his old greeting whistle. + +"Here, David, I'm on the porch," came his mother's voice. + +"Mommie," he cried gaily as he took her into his arms, "I knew you'd be +looking for me." + +Then for the first time since his father's death he heard his mother +sob. "Oh, mother," he asked, "is my going away as hard as all that? Or +are you only glad to see me?" + +"Glad," she replied, restraining her emotion. "Sit down on the bench, +Davie." + +"Why--I didn't notice it first--you're wearing dark glasses again! Are +your eyes worse?" + +"Sit down, Davie, sit down," she said nervously. "That's right," she +added as he sat beside her and put one arm about her. + +"Now tell me," he said imperiously. "Are you sure you're all right? +You're not worrying about me?" + +"No, I'm not worrying about you; I quit worrying long ago. But I must +tell you--I wish I didn't have to--don't be scared--it's just about my +eyes." + +"Tell me! Are they worse?" + +She laid her hand on his knees. "Don't get excited--but--I can't see." + +"Can't see!" He repeated the words as though he could not understand +them. Then he put his hands on her cheeks and peered into her face in +the semi-darkness of the porch. "Not blind? Oh, mommie, not blind?" + +She nodded, her lips trembling. "Yes, it's come. I'm blind." + +The words, fraught with so much sorrow, sounded like claps of thunder in +his ears. "Mother," he cried again, "you can't be blind!" + +"But I am. I knew it was coming. The light was getting dimmer every day. +I could hardly see your face this morning when you went." + +"And I went away and you stayed here and went blind!" He broke into sobs +and she allowed him to cry it out as they sat together in the darkness. + +"Come," she said at length, "now you mustn't take on so. It's not as +awful as you think. I said to Phares to-day that I'm almost glad it's +here, for it was awful to know it's coming." + +"But it's awful," he shuddered. "Come in to the light and let me see +you--but oh, you can't see me!" + +"Yes I can." She reached a hand to his face. "This is the way I see you +now. The same mouth and chin, the same mole on your left cheek--that's +good luck, Davie--the same nose with its little turn-up." + +"Mommie"--he grabbed her hands and kissed them--"there's not another +like you in the whole world! If I were blind I'd be groaning and moaning +and making life miserable for everybody near me, and here you are your +same cheerful self. You're the bravest of 'em all!" + +"But you mustn't think that I haven't rebelled against this, that I +haven't cried out against it! I've had my hours of weakness and tears +and rebellion." + +"And I never knew it." + +"No. Each one goes to Gethsemane alone." + +"But isn't it almost more than you can bear--to be blind?" + +"It's dreadful at first. I stumble so and every little sill and rug +seems a foot high. But I'll soon learn." + +"Is there nothing to do? What did Dr. Munster say about your eyes when +we were down to see him?" + +"He told me then I'd be blind soon. And he said the only thing might +save my sight or bring it back was a delicate operation that would be a +big risk, for it probably wouldn't help at any rate. So I'm not +thinking of ever trying that. Now I don't want you to think I'm brave +about it. I've cried all my tears a month ago, so don't put me on any +pedestal. It seems hard not to see the people I love and all the +beautiful things around me, but I'm glad I have the memory of them. I'm +glad I know what a rainbow is, and a sunset." + +"Yes, but I think it's awful to know what they look like and never see +them again. I can't, just can't, realize that you're blind!" + +"You will when you come back from war and have to fetch and carry for +me. Your Aunt Mary and Phares are just lovely about it and willing to +help in every way. I was going to live over with them at any rate." + +"I wish I could stay with you, mommie. You need me, but I guess Uncle +Sam needs me too. I'm to go soon, you know." + +"You go, even if I am blind. I'm not helpless. It will be awkward for a +while but there are many things I can do. I can knit without seeing." + +"You're a wonder! But is there no hope?" + +"Hope," she repeated softly. "No hope of the kind you mean, except that +very severe operation that would cost big money and then perhaps not +help. But this world isn't all. I've always liked that part of Isaiah, +'The eyes of the blind shall be opened, and the ears of the deaf shall +be unstopped. Then shall the lame man leap as an hart, and the tongue of +the dumb sing.' I know now what it'll mean to us. It seems like the +afflicted will have a special joy in that time." + +David was silent for a moment; his mother's words stirred in him +emotions too great for ready words. + +Presently she continued, "But, Davie, this isn't heaven yet! And I'm +concerned just now about helping myself to live the rest of this life +the best way I can. I can knit like a machine and I like to knit +socks----" + +The remainder was left unsaid for the strong arms of her boy surrounded +her and held her close while his lips were pressed upon her forehead. + +"Such a mother," he breathed, as if the touch of her forehead bestowed a +benediction upon him. "Such a mother!" + +In the morning he brought the news to the Metz farmhouse. + +"Blind?" Phoebe cried. + +David nodded. + +"Blind! Mother Bab blind? Oh, it's too awful!" + +"My goodness," Aunt Maria said with genuine sorrow, "now that's too bad! +Her blind and you goin' off to war soon!" + +"I'm going up to see her," said Phoebe, and went off with David. + +Mother Bab heard the girl's step and called gaily, "Phoebe, is that you? +I declare, it sounds like you!" + +Phoebe ran to the room where Mother Bab sat alone. The girl could not +speak at first; she twined her arms about the woman while her heart +ached with its poignant grief. Again it was the afflicted one who +turned comforter. "Come, Phoebe, you mustn't cry for me. Laugh like you +always did when you came to see me." + +"Laugh! Oh, Mother Bab, I can't laugh!" + +"But, Phoebe, I'll want you to come up to see me every day when you can +and you surely can't cry every time and be sad, so you might as well +begin now to be cheerful." + +"But, Mother Bab, can't something be done?" + +"Dr. Munster, the big doctor I saw in Philadelphia, said that only a big +operation might help me, but he's not sure that even it would do any +good. And, of course, we have no money for it and at my age it doesn't +matter so much." + +Later, as Phoebe walked down the hill again, she kept revolving in her +mind what Mother Bab had said about the operation. An inspiration +suddenly flashed to her. The wonder of it made her stand still in the +road. + +"I know! I'll buy sight for Mother Bab! I will! I must! If it's only +money that's necessary, if there's any wonderful doctor can operate on +her eyes and make her see again she's going to see! Oh, glory! What a +happy thought! I'm the happiest girl since that idea came to me! The +money I meant to spend on more music lessons next winter will be put to +better use; it will give Mother Bab a chance to see again! Why, I'd +rather have her _see_ than be able to call myself the greatest singer in +the world! But she'll never let me spend so much money for her. I know +that. I'll have to make her believe the operation will be free. I can +fool her in that, dear, innocent, trusting Mother Bab! She'd believe me +against half the world. But I'm afraid I can't fool David so easily. I +must wait till he goes, then I'll write to Dr. Munster and start things +going!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII + +OFF TO THE NAVY + + +PHOEBE was glad when David came to her with the news that he had been +accepted for the navy and was going to Norfolk. + +"That's so far away he won't come home soon," she thought. "It'll give +me a chance to arrange for the operation. I hope he goes soon. That's a +dreadful thing to say! The days are all too short for Mother Bab, I +know." + +If the days seemed Mercury-shod to the blind mother she did not +complain. + +"It's hard to let you go," she said to her boy, "but it would be harder +to see you a slacker. Phoebe is going to read to me now when you go. +She'll be up here often." + +"Yes, that makes it easier for me to go, mommie." + +"Don't you worry about me. Phoebe will be good company for me and she'll +write my letters for me. We'll send you so many you'll be busy reading +them." + +"I'm going to make her promise that," he declared with a laugh. + +He exacted the promise as Mother Bab and Phoebe stood with him and +waited for the train to carry him away. "Mother, you and Phoebe must +take me to the train," he had said. "I want you to be the last picture +I see as the train pulls out." Phoebe had assented, though she thought +ruefully of the deficiency of the English language, which has but one +form for singular _you_ and plural _you_. She wondered whether he +included her in the picture he wanted to cherish in his memory. Now, +when he was going away from her she knew that she loved her old +playmate, that he was the one man in the world for her. She loved David, +she would always love him! She wanted to run to him and tell him so, but +centuries of restriction had bequeathed to her the universal fear of +womanhood to reveal a love that has not been sought. She felt that in +all her life she had never wanted anything so keenly as she wanted to +hear David Eby tell her that he loved her, that her face would be with +him in whatever circumstances the future should place him. But David +could not read the heart of his old playmate, and while his own heart +cried out for its mate his words were commonplace. + +"Mother has promised that I'm to have so many letters that I can't read +them all. As you're to be private secretary, you'll have to promise to +carry out her promise." + +"David," she met him with equal jest, "you have as many promises in that +sentence as a candidate for political office." + +"But I want them better kept than that," he said, laughing. "Will you +promise, Phoebe?" + +"Promise what?" she asked, the levity fading suddenly. + +"To write often for mother." + +"Yes--I promise to write often for Mother Bab," she said, and the man +could not know the effort the simple words cost her. "Oh, Davie," she +thought, "it's not for Mother Bab alone I want to write to you! I want +to write you _my_ letters, letters of a girl to the man she loves. How +blind you are!" + +The moment was becoming tense. It was Mother Bab who turned the tide +into a normal channel. "Now, don't you worry, Davie. I can make Phoebe +mind me." + +The train whistled. Phoebe drew a long breath and prayed that the train +would make a short stop and speed along for she could not endure much +more. She looked at Mother Bab. The hysteria was turned from her. She +knew she would have to be brave for the sake of the dear mother. + +"I'll take care of Mother Bab, David," she promised as the train drew +in, "and I'll write often." + +"Phoebe, you're an angel!" He grasped both hands in his for a long +moment. Then he turned to his mother, folded her in his arms and kissed +her. + +"There he is," Phoebe cried as the train moved. She was eyes for Mother +Bab. "Turn to the right a bit and wave; that's it! He's waving back---- +Oh, Mother Bab, he's waving that box of sand-tarts Aunt Maria gave him! +They'll be in pieces!" + +"Sand-tarts," said the other, still waving to the boy she could not see. +"Well, he'll eat them if they are broken. Davie is crazy for cookies." + +"I'm going to need you more than ever now, Phoebe," Mother Bab said as +they started home. "Aunt Mary and Phares are so busy and I feel it's so +lovely of them to have me there when I can do so little to help, that I +don't want to make them more trouble than I must. So if you'll take care +of the writing to David for me I'll be glad." Ah, blind Mother Bab, you +had splendid vision just then! + +"I'll write for you. I'll love to do it. Mother Bab----" She hesitated. +Should she broach the subject of the operation now? Perhaps it would be +kind to divert the thoughts of the mother from the recent parting. +"Mother Bab, I've thought about what you said, and I think you should +have that operation. The doctor said there was a chance." + +"Ach, a very slim one. One chance in--I don't know how many!" + +"But a chance!" + +"Yes"--the woman thought a moment--"but it would cost lots of money, I +guess. I didn't ask the doctor, but I know operations are dear. I have +fifty dollars saved, but that wouldn't go far." + +"But don't you know," the girl said guilelessly, "that all big hospitals +have free rooms and do lots of work for nothing? Many rich people endow +rooms in hospitals. If you could get into one like that and pay just a +little, would you go?" + +A light seemed to settle upon the face of the blind woman. "Why," she +answered slowly, "why, Phoebe, I never thought of that! I didn't +remember--why, I guess I would--yes, of course! I'd go and make a fight +for that one chance!" + +"I knew you'd be brave! You'll have that operation, Mother Bab! I'll +write to Dr. Munster right away. But don't you let Phares write and tell +David. We'll surprise him!" + +"Ach, but won't he be glad if I can see when he comes home!" + +"Won't he though! I'll make all the arrangements; don't you worry about +it at all." + +"My, you're good to me, Phoebe!" + +"Good--after all you've done for me!" + +"_Good_," she thought after Mother Bab had been left at the home of +Phares and Phoebe turned homeward. "She calls me good the first time I +deceive her. I've begun that tangled web and I know I'll have to tell a +whole pack of lies before I'm through with it." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII + +THE ONE CHANCE + + +PHOEBE lost no time in carrying out her plans. When she mentioned the +operation to Phares Eby he looked dubious. + +"I'm afraid it's no use," he said gravely. "Those operations very often +fail." + +"But there's a chance, Phares! If it were your eyes wouldn't you snatch +at any meagre chance?" + +"Why, I guess I would," he admitted, wondering at her insight into human +nature and admiring her devotion to the blind woman. + +Aunt Maria also was sceptical. "Ach, Phoebe, it vonders me now that +Barb'll spend all that money for carfare and to stay in the city and +then mebbe it's all for nothin'. There was old Bevy Way and a lot of old +people I knowed went blind and they died blind. When abody gets so old +once it seems the doctors can't do much. I guess it just is to be." + +"Oh, Aunt Maria," Phoebe said hotly, "I don't believe in that is-to-be +business! Not until you've done all you can to make things better." + +"Well, mebbe, for all, it's worth tryin'. I guess if it was my eyes I'd +do most anything to get 'em fixed again." + +Mother Bab said little about the hopes Phoebe had raised, but the girl +knew how the woman built upon having sight for a glad surprise for +David. + +"I'm afraid the fifty dollars won't reach," she said the day before they +were to take the trip to Philadelphia. + +"Don't worry about that. Those big doctors usually have hearts to match. +I told you there are generous people who give lots of money to +hospitals." + +"And I guess the hospitals pay the doctors then," offered the woman. + +"I guess so," Phoebe agreed. Her conscience smote her for the deception +she was practicing on the dear white-capped woman. "But what's the use +of straining at every little gnat of a falsehood," she thought, "when +I'm swallowing camels wholesale?" + +She managed to secure a short interview with Dr. Munster before the +examination of Mother Bab's eyes. + +"I want to ask you what the operation is going to cost, hospital charges +and all," she said frankly. + +"At least five hundred dollars." + +Phoebe's year in the city had taught her many things. She showed no +surprise at the amount named. "That will be satisfactory, Dr. Munster. +But I want to ask you, please don't tell Moth--Mrs. Eby anything about +it. I--it's to be paid by a friend. I know Mrs. Eby would almost faint +if she knew so much money was going to be spent for her. She knows that +many hospitals have free rooms and thinks some operations are free. I +left her under that impression. You understand?" + +The big doctor understood. "Yes, I see. Well, we'll run this one chance +to cover and make a fight. I wish I could promise more," he said. + +"Thank you. I know you'll succeed. I'm sure she'll see again!" + +True to his promise Dr. Munster answered Mother Bab so tactfully that +she came out of his office feeling that "the physician is the flower of +our civilization, that cheerfulness and generosity are a part of his +virtues." + +The optimism in Phoebe's heart tinged the blind woman's with its cheery +faith. "I figure it this way," the girl said; "we'll do all we can and +then if we fail there's time enough to be resigned and say it's God's +will." + +"Phoebe, you're a wonderful girl! Your name means _shining_, and that +just suits you. You're doing so much for me. Why, you didn't even want +to let me pay your carfare down here!" + +The girl winced again. "I must learn to wince without showing it," she +thought, "for after she sees she'll keep saying such things and I can't +spoil it all by letting her know the truth." + +Perhaps the optimistic words of Phoebe rang in the ears of the big +doctor as he bent over Mother Bab's sightless eyes and began the tedious +operation. His hands moved skilfully, with infinite precision, cutting +to the infinitesimal fraction of an inch. + +Afterward, when Mother Bab had been taken away, he sought Phoebe. "I +hope," he said, "that your faith was not unwarranted, though I can't +promise anything yet." + +"Oh, I'm surer now than ever!" the girl said happily. + +But at times, in the days of waiting, her heart ached. What if the +operation had failed, what if Mother Bab would have to bear cruel +disappointment? All the natural buoyancy of the girl's nature was +required to bear her through the trying days of waiting. With the +dawning of the day upon which the bandage should be removed and the +truth known Phoebe's excitement could not be restrained. + +"I can't wait!" she exclaimed. "I want to be right there when he takes +it off. I want you to see me first, since David isn't here." + +Long after that day it seemed to her that she could hear Mother Bab's +glad, sweet voice saying, "I can see!" + +"I can see!" The words were electric in their effect. Phoebe gave an +ecstatic "Oh!" then hushed as her lips trembled. + +"You win," the big doctor said to her. + +"Oh, no, not I! You! But I knew she'd see again!" + +"She sees again, but," he cautioned, "Mrs. Eby, there must be no reading +or sewing or any close work to strain your eyes." + +"Oh, doctor, it's enough just to see again! I can do without the reading +and writing, for Phoebe, here, does all that for me. And I'll not miss +the sewing. I'm glad I can potter around the garden again and plant +flowers and _see_ them and"--her voice broke--"I think it's wonderful +there are men like you in the world!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV + +BUSY DAYS + + +THE news of the operation spread quickly and with it spread the +interesting information that Mother Bab was keeping her sight as a +surprise for David. So it happened that no letters to him contained the +news, that even the town paper refrained from printing the item of heart +interest and David's surprise was unspoiled. + +His letters to Mother Bab were long and interesting and always required +frequent re-reading for the mother. + +"I wanted to read that letter awful bad," she confessed to Phoebe one +day, "but I didn't. I'm not taking any chances with my eyes. I'm too +glad to be able to see at all. The letter came this morning and Phares +read it for me, but I want to hear it again. Will you read it, Phoebe? +Did David write to you this week yet?" + +"No." The girl felt the color surging to her cheeks. "He doesn't write +to me very often. He knows I read your letters." + +"Ach, yes. I guess he's busy, too. It's a big change for him to be +learning to be a sailor when he always had his feet on dry land. But +read the letter; it's a nice big one." + +Phoebe's clear laughter joined Mother Bab's at one paragraph: "Do you +remember the blue sailor suits you used to make for me when I was a tiny +chap? And once you made me a real tam and I was proud as a peacock in +it. Well, since I'm here and wearing a sailor suit I feel like a +masculine edition of Alice in Wonderland when she felt herself growing +bigger and bigger and I wonder sometimes if I'll shrink back again and +be just that little boy." + +Another portion of the letter set Phoebe's voice trembling as she read, +"I must tell you again, mother, how thankful I am that you made it so +much easier for me to go than I dreamed it could be. You are so fine +about it. With a mother as plucky as you I can't very well be a +jelly-fish. It's great to have a mother one has to reach high to live up +to." + +"Just like David," said Phoebe as she laid the letter aside. "Of course +I think war is dreadful, but the training is going to do wonders for +many of the men." + +"Yes," said the white-capped woman. "Out of it some good will come. +Selfishness is going to be erased clean from the souls of many people by +the time war is over." + +"But we must pay a big price for all we gain from it." + +"Yes--I wonder--I guess Davie will be going over soon. He said, you +know, that if we don't hear from him for a while not to worry. I guess +that means he thinks he'll be going over." + +When, at length, news came from the other side it was Phoebe who was the +bringer of the tidings. + +"Oh, Mother Bab," she cried breathlessly one day in autumn as she ran +back from the gate after a visit from the postman, "it's a letter from +France!" + +Phares Eby and his mother ran at the news and the four stood, an eager +group, as Phoebe opened the letter. + +"Read it, Phoebe! He's over safely!" Mother Bab's voice was eager. + +"I--I can't read it. I'm too excited. I can't get my breath. You read +it, Phares." + +The preacher read in his slow, calm way. + + "_Somewhere in France._ + + "DEAR MOTHER: + + "You see by the heading I'm safe over here. I can't + tell you much about the trip--no use wearing out + the censor's pencils. The sea's wonderful, but I + like dry land better. I'm on dry land now, in a + quaint French village where the streets run up hill + and the people wear strange costumes. The women + wash their clothes by beating them on stones in the + brook--how would the Lancaster County women like + that?" + +It was a long, chatty letter and it warmed the heart of the mother and +interested Phoebe and the others who heard it. + +"He's a great David," the preacher said as he handed the letter to +Phoebe. "I suppose you'll have to read it over and over to Aunt +Barbara." + +He looked at the girl as he spoke. Her high color and shining eyes spoke +eloquently of her interest in the letter. "Ah," he thought, "I believe +she still _likes Davie best_. I'm sure she does." + +The preacher had been greatly changed by the events of the past year. +He would always be a bit too strict in his views of life, a bit narrow +in many things. Nevertheless, he was changed. He was less harsh in his +opinions of others since he had seen and heard how thousands who were +not of his religious faith had gone forth to lay down their lives that +the world might be made a decent place in which to live. He, Phares Eby, +preacher, had formerly denounced all that pertained to actors and the +theatre, yet tears had coursed down his cheeks as he had read the +account of a famous comedian who had given his only son for the cause of +freedom and who was going about in the camps and in the trenches +bringing cheer to the men. As the preacher read that he confessed to +himself that the comedian, familiar as he was with footlights, was doing +more good in the world than a dozen Phares Ebys. That one incident swept +away some of the prejudice of the preacher. He knew he could never +sanction the doings so many people indulge in but he felt at the same +time that those same pleasures need not have a damning influence upon +all people. + +Phoebe noted the change in him. She felt like a discoverer of hidden +treasure when she heard of the influence he was exerting in behalf of +the Red Cross and Liberty Loans. But she was finding hidden treasures in +many places those days. Strenuous, busy days they were but they held +many revelations of soul beauty. + +Every link with Phoebe's former life in Philadelphia was broken save the +one binding her to Virginia. That friendship was too precious to be +shattered. The country girl had written a long letter to the city girl, +telling of the decision to give up the music lessons. "My dear, dear +friend," she wrote frankly, "you tried to keep me from being hurt, but I +wouldn't see. How I must have worried you and how foolish I was! I know +better now. I do not regret my winter in the city and I do appreciate +all you did for me, but I am happy to be back on the farm again. I'm +afraid I tried to be an American Beauty rose when I was meant to be just +some ordinary wild flower like the daisy or even the common yarrow. I +owe so much to you. We must always be friends." + +One day in late summer Phoebe fairly radiated joy as she hurried up the +hill and ran down the road to the garden where Mother Bab was gathering +larkspur seeds. + +"Oh, Mother Bab, I've such good news about Granny Hogendobler and Old +Aaron!" + +"Come in, tell me!" + +"I've been to town and stopped to see Granny. You know Old Aaron and +their boy Nason fell out years ago about something the boy said about +the flag and was too stubborn to take back." + +"Yes, I know." + +"It was foolishness on the part of the father, of course, for he should +have known boys say things they don't mean. Well, the two kept on acting +all these years like strangers. The old man grew bitter. Last year when +the boys went to Mexico he said that if he had a son instead of a +blockhead he'd be sending a boy to do his share down there. It almost +killed him to think of his boy sitting back while others went and +defended the flag. Well, Granny said yesterday she was in the yard and +she heard the gate click. She didn't pay any attention for she knew Old +Aaron was in the front yard under the arbor. But then she heard a cry +and ran to see, and there was Old Aaron with his arms around a big +fellow dressed in a soldier uniform, and when the man turned his head it +was Nason! Granny said it was the greatest day in their lives and paid +up for all the unhappy days when Old Aaron was cross and said mean +things about Nason. Nason had just a day to stay, but they made a day of +it. Granny said, 'I-to-goodness, but we had a time! Aaron wanted to kill +a chicken, for Nason likes chicken so much, but I knew that Aaron was so +excited he'd like as not only cripple the poor thing, so I said I'd kill +it while they talked. I made stuffing with onions in, like Nason likes, +and I had just baked a snitz pie and I tell you we had a good dinner. +But I bet them two didn't know what they ate, for they were all the time +talking about the war and bombs and Gettysburg and France till I didn't +know what they meant.'" + +"My, I'm glad for Granny and Old Aaron," Mother Bab said. + +"And what do you think!" Phoebe went on. "They are changing the name of +Prussian Street, and some are talking of changing the name of the town, +but I hope they won't do that." + +"No, it would be strange to have to call it something else after all +these years." + +"I think it's a grand joke," said Phoebe, "that this little town was +founded by a German and yet the town is strong American and doing its +best to down the Potsdam gang. The people of Lancaster County are loyal +to Old Glory and I'm glad I belong here." + +She appreciated her goodly heritage, not with any Pharisaical exultation +but with honest gratitude. + +"I have learned many things, Mother Bab, and this is one of the big +things I've learned lately: to be everlastingly thankful to Providence +for setting me down on a farm where I could spend a childhood filled +with communications with nature. I never before realized what blessings +I've had all the years of my life. Why, I've had chickens to play with +and feed, cows and wobbly calves to pet, birds to love and learn about, +clear streams to wade in and float daisies on, meadows to play in, hills +to run down while the dust went 'spif' under my bare feet. And I've had +flowers, thousands of wild flowers, to find and carry home or, if too +frail to bear carrying home, like the delicate spring beauty and the +bluet, just to look at and admire and turn again to look at as I went +out of the woods. My whole childhood has been a wonderful one but I was +too blind to see the wonder of it. I see now! But, Mother Bab, I don't +see, even yet, that I should wear plain clothes. I've been thinking +about it lately. I do believe, though, that the plain way is a good way. +Many people enjoy the simple service of the meeting-house more than they +would enjoy a more complex form of worship. I feel so restful and +peaceful when I'm in a meeting-house, so near to the real things, the +things that count." + +Mother Bab answered only a mild "Yes," but her heart sang as she +thought, "I believe she'll be plain some day, she and David. Perhaps +they'll come together. But I'll not worry about them; I know their +hearts are right." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXV + +DAVID'S SHARE + + +ANOTHER June came with its roses and perfume, but there was no Feast of +Roses in Greenwald that June of 1918. Phoebe regretted the fact, for she +felt that even in a war-racked world, with the multiple duties and +anxiety and suffering of many of its people, there should still be time +for a service as beautiful and inspiring as the Feast of Roses. + +But all thoughts of it or similar omissions were crowded into the +background one day when the news came to Mother Bab that David had been +wounded in France. + +The official telegram flashed over the wire and in due time came a +letter with more satisfying details. The letter was characteristic of +David: "I suppose you heard that the Boche got me, but he didn't get all +of me, just one leg. What hurts me most is the fact that I didn't get a +few Huns first or do some real thing for the cause before I got knocked +out. I know you'll feel better satisfied if I tell you all about it. +Several of the other boys and I left the town where we were stationed +and went to Paris for a few days. It was our first pleasure trip since +we came to this side. We gazed upon the things we studied about in +school--Eiffel Tower, Notre Dame, and so forth. Later we went to a +railroad station where refugees were coming in, fleeing from the +invading Huns. I can't ever forget that sight! Women and children they +were, but such women and children! Women who had gone through hell and +children who had seen more horror in their few years that we can ever +dream possible. Terror and suffering have lodged shadows in their eyes +till one wonders if some of them will ever smile or laugh again. Many of +them were wounded and in need of medical care. They carried with them +their sole possessions, all of their belongings they could gather and +take with them as they rushed away from the hordes of the enemy +soldiers. We helped to place them into Red Cross vans to be taken to a +safe place in the southern part of the country. As we were putting them +into the vans the signal came that an air raid was on. The subways are +places for refuge during the raids, so we hurried them out of the vans +and into subways. They all got in safely but I was a bit too slow. I got +knocked out and my right leg was so badly splintered that I'm better off +without it. The thing worries me most is that I'll be sent home out of +the fight before I fairly got into it." + +"Oh, Mother Bab," Phoebe said sobbingly, "his right leg's gone!" + +"It might be worse. But--I wish I could be with him." + +"But isn't it just like him," said Phoebe proudly, "to write as though +it was carelessness caused the accident, when we know he got others to +safety and never thought of himself. He was just as brave as the boys +who fight." + +"Yes. There is still much to be thankful for. Many mothers will get +sadder news than mine. You must write him a long letter." + +It was a long letter, indeed, that the mother dictated to her boy. When +it was written Phoebe added a little postscript, "David, I'm mighty +proud of you!" To this he responded, "Thank you for your pride in me, +but don't you go making a hero of me; I can't live up to that when I get +home. Guess I'll be sent back as soon as my leg is healed. Uncle Sam has +no need of me here since I bungled things and left a leg in Paris. I'll +have to do the rest of my bit on the farm. I wasn't a howling success as +a farmer when I had two legs, but perhaps my luck has turned. I'm going +to raise chickens and do my best to make the little farm a paying one." + +"He's the same cheerful David," thought the girl, "and we'll have to +keep cheerful about it, too." + +But it was no easy matter to continue steadfast in cheerfulness during +the long days of the summer. Phoebe and Mother Bab shared the anxiety of +many others as the news came that the armies of the enemy were pushing +nearer to Paris, nearer, and nearer, with the Americans and their allies +fighting like demons and contesting every inch of the ground. A fear +rose in Phoebe--what if the Germans should reach Paris, what if they +should win the war! "But it can't be!" she thought. + +Her confidence was not unwarranted. Soon came the turn of the tide and +the German drive was checked. One July day shrieking whistles, frenzied +ringing of bells, impromptu parades and waving flags, spread the news +that "America's contemptible little army" was helping to push the +Germans back, back! + +"It's the beginning of the end for the Germans," said Phoebe jubilantly +as she ran to Mother Bab with the news. "If they once start running +they'll sprint pretty lively. We'll have to tell David about the +excitement in town when the whistles blew--but, ach, I forgot! He won't +think that was much excitement after he's been in _real_ excitement." + +Mother Bab laughed with the girl. "But we'll have lots to tell him when +he comes back," she said. "And won't he be glad I can see!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVI + +DAVID'S RETURN + + +IT was October of 1918 when David Eby alighted from the train at +Greenwald and started out the country road to his home. He could not +resist the temptation to run into the yard of the gray farmhouse and +into the kitchen where Aunt Maria and Phoebe were working. + +"David!" + +"Why, David!" + +The cries came gladly from the two women as he bounded over the sill and +extended his hand, first to the older woman, then to Phoebe. + +"I just had to stop in here for a minute! Then I must run up the hill to +mother. This place looks too good to pass by. How are you? You're both +looking fine." + +"Ach, we're well," Aunt Maria had to answer, Phoebe remaining +speechless. "But why, David! You got two legs and no crutches! I thought +you lost a leg." + +"I did," he said, smiling, "but Uncle Sam gave me another one." + +"Why, abody'd hardly know it. Ain't, Phoebe, he just limps a little? +Now I bet your mom'll be glad to see you--to have you back again, I +mean." + +"Yes. I can't wait to get up the hill. I must go now. I'll be down +later, Phoebe," he added. + +"All right," she said quietly. + +"Ach, Phoebe," Aunt Maria exclaimed after he left, "did you hear me? I +almost give it away that his mom can see. Abody can be awful dumb still! +But won't he be glad when he knows that she ain't blind! She can see him +again. Ach, Phoebe, it's lots of nice people in the world, for all. It +makes abody feel good to know them two are havin' a happy time." + +"I'm so glad for both I could sing." + +"Go on," said the woman; "I'm glad too, and I believe I could help you +to holler." + +As David climbed the hill by the woodland he thought musingly, "Strikes +me Phoebe didn't seem extra glad to see me. Perhaps she was just +surprised, perhaps my being crippled changed her. Oh, Phoebe, I want you +more than ever! I wonder--is it some nerve to ask you to marry a +cripple?" + +However, all disquieting thoughts were forgotten as he reached the +summit of the hill and saw his boyhood home. + +He whistled his old greeting whistle. At the sound of it Mother Bab ran +to the door. + +"It's David come home!" she cried, her renewed eyes turned to the road, +her hands outstretched. + +"I'm back, mommie!" he called before his running feet could take him to +her. But as he held her again to his heart there were no words adequate +for the greeting. Their joy was great enough to be inarticulate for a +while. + +"But, Davie," the mother said after a long silence, "you come running! +You have no crutches!" + +"Why, mommie!" There was questioning wonder in his voice. "How do you +know? You couldn't see! You are blind!" + +"Oh, Davie, not any more! I can see!" + +"You can see?" He put a hand at each side of the white-capped head and +looked into her eyes. They were not the dull, half-staring eyes of +blindness but eyes lighted by loving recognition. + +Again words failed him as he swept her into his arms. But he could not +long be silent. "Tell me," he cried. "I must know! What +miracle--who--how--who did it? When?" + +"Oh, Davie, you're not changed a bit! Same old question box! But I'll +tell you all about it." + +Throughout the story Mother Bab told ran the name of Phoebe. "Phoebe +planned it all, Phoebe made the arrangements with the doctor, Phoebe +took me down to Philadelphia, Phoebe was there when I found I could +see"--it was Phoebe, Phoebe, till the man felt his heart singing the +name. + +"Isn't she going on with her music lessons?" he asked. "I was afraid +she'd be in the city when I got back." + +"She's given them up. It ain't like her to begin a thing and get tired +of it so soon. All at once after we came back from Philadelphia she said +she had enough of music, she was tired of it, and was going to stay at +home and be useful. I'm glad she's not going off again, for it gets +lonesome without her. You stopped to see her on the way up?" + +"Yes, just a minute. I'm going down again later. She hardly said two +words to me." + +"You took her by surprise, I guess. Give her a chance and she'll ask you +a hundred questions." + +But when he paid the promised visit to Phoebe he was again disappointed +by her lack of the old comradely friendliness. She shared his joy at +Mother Bab's restored sight but when he began to thank her for her part +in it she disclaimed all credit and asked questions to lead him from the +subject of the operation. The girl seemed interested in all he said yet +there was a restraint in her manner. For the first time in his life +David was baffled by her attitude. As he climbed the hill again he +thought, "Now, what's the matter with Phoebe? Was she or wasn't she glad +to see me? I couldn't tell her I love her when she acts like that! And +I'm a cripple, and she's beautiful---- Oh, my mind's in a muddle! But +one thing's clear--I want Phoebe Metz for my wife." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVII + +"A LOVE THAT LIFE COULD NEVER TIRE" + + +THE next morning Phares Eby called David, "Wait, I want to see you. +I--David," the preacher began gravely, "perhaps I shouldn't tell you, +but I really think I ought. Do you know all Phoebe did for your mother +while you were gone?" + +"Why, yes. Mother told me. Phoebe was lovely to her. She's been great! +Writing her letters and doing ever so many kind things for her." + +"I know--but--I guess you don't know all she did. That story about a +great doctor operating for charity didn't quite please me. I thought as +long as it was in the family I'd pay him for what he did. So I wrote to +him and his secretary wrote back that the bill had been paid by a check +signed by Phoebe Metz--the bill had been five hundred dollars. I guess +that explains her giving up the music lessons. What a girl she is to +make such a sacrifice! She don't know that I know, but I felt I ought to +tell you." + +"Five hundred dollars! Phoebe did that for us--she paid it? Oh, Phares, +I'm glad you told me! I'm going to find her right away and thank her! +You're a brick for telling me!" + +The preacher smiled as David turned and ran down the hill, but preachers +are only human--he felt a pang of pain as he went back to his work in +the field while David went to find Phoebe. + +David forgot for the time that he was crippled as he ran limping over +the road. Dressed in his working clothes, his head bare to the October +sunlight, he hurried to the gray farmhouse. + +"Phoebe here?" he asked Aunt Maria. + +"What's wrong? Anything the matter at your house?" she asked. + +"No. Nothing's wrong. Where's Phoebe?" + +"Ach, over at the quarry again for weeds or something like she brings +home all the time." + +"All right." He turned to the gate. "I'll find her." + +He half ran up the sheltered road to the old stone quarry. + +"Phoebe," he cried when he caught sight of her as she stooped to gather +goldenrod that fringed the woods. + +"Why, David, what's the matter?" she asked as she stood erect and faced +him. + +"You angel!" he cried, taking her hands in his and spilling the +goldenrod over the ground. "You angel!" he said again, and the full +gratitude of his heart shone from his eyes. "You bought Mother Bab's +sight! You gave up the music lessons that she might see!" + +"How d'you know?" she challenged. + +"Oh, I know!" He told her briefly. "That's all true, isn't it?" + +"Yes," she admitted. "I can't lie out of it now, I guess. Though I've +lied like a trooper about it already. But you needn't get excited about +it. Mother Bab's earned more than that from me!" + +"Oh, Phoebe!" The man could hardly refrain from taking her in his arms. +"You're an angel! To sacrifice all that for us--it's the most unselfish +thing I've ever heard of! You gave her sight so she could see me. I came +right down to bless you and to thank you." + +Other words sought utterance but he fought them back. Phoebe must have +read his heart, for she looked up suddenly and asked, "And you came all +the way down here just to say thank you! There's nothing else----" + +Then, half-ashamed and startled at her forwardness, her gaze dropped. + +But the words had worked their magic. "There _is_ something else!" David +cried, exulting. "I can't wait any longer to tell you! I love you!" + +He held out his arms and as she smiled into his face his arms enfolded +her and he knew that she loved him. But he wanted to hear the sweet +words from her lips. "Is it so?" he asked. "You do care for me, you'll +marry me?" + +"Oh, Davie, did you think I could live the rest of my life without you? +Did you think I could love you any less because you're crippled?" + +He flushed. "It seemed like working on your sympathy to ask you." + +"And if you hadn't asked me, Davie," she began. + +"Yes, go on. If I hadn't asked you----" + +"_I_ should have asked _you_!" + +They both laughed at that, but a moment later were serious as he said, +"Just the same, Phoebe, it seems presumptuous for a maimed man to ask a +girl like you to marry him. You are beautiful and you have a wonderful +voice--and you've done such wonderful things for Mother Bab and me. You +have sacrificed so much----" + +"Stop, David!" she cried, her voice ominously tearful. "David, don't +hurt me like that! Do you love me?" + +"I do." His words had all the solemnity of a marriage vow. + +"You know I love you?" + +"I do." + +"Then, David, can't you see that we love each other not only in +prosperity but in misfortunes as well?" + +"What a big heart you have, dear, what a woman's heart! I have two +wonderful women in my life, Mother Bab and you." + +Phoebe felt the delicacy and magnitude of the tribute. "I'm happy, +Davie," she said softly. "I feel so safe with you--no doubts, no fears." + +"Just love," he added. + +"Just love," she repeated. + +"Then, Phoebe"--how she loved the name from his lips--"you'll marry me?" +He said it as though he could not quite believe his good fortune. "Then +you _will_ marry me?" + +"Yes, if you want." + +"If I want! Oh, Phoebe, Phoebe, I have always wanted it!" + + + + +Popular Copyright Novels + +_AT MODERATE PRICES_ + + Ask Your Dealer for a Complete List of + A. L. Burt Company's Popular Copyright Fiction + +=Adventures of Jimmie Dale, The.= By Frank L. Packard. + +=Adventures of Sherlock Holmes.= By A. Conan Doyle. + +=After House, The.= By Mary Roberts Rinehart. + +=Ailsa Paige.= By Robert W. Chambers. + +=Alton of Somasco.= By Harold Bindloss. + +=Amateur Gentleman, The.= By Jeffery Farnol. + +=Anna, the Adventuress.= By E. Phillips Oppenheim. + +=Anne's House of Dreams.= By L. M. Montgomery. + +=Around Old Chester.= By Margaret Deland. + +=Athalie.= By Robert W. Chambers. + +=At the Mercy of Tiberius.= By Augusta Evans Wilson. + +=Auction Block, The.= By Rex Beach. + +=Aunt Jane of Kentucky.= By Eliza C. Hall. + +=Awakening of Helena Richie.= By Margaret Deland. + + +=Bab: a Sub-Deb.= By Mary Roberts Rinehart. + +=Barrier, The.= By Rex Beach. + +=Barbarians.= By Robert W. Chambers. + +=Bargain True, The.= By Nalbro Bartley. + +=Bar 20.= By Clarence E. Mulford. + +=Bar 20 Days.= By Clarence E. Mulford. + +=Bars of Iron, The.= By Ethel M. Dell. + +=Beasts of Tarzan, The.= By Edgar Rice Burroughs. + +=Beloved Traitor, The.= By Frank L. Packard. + +=Beltane the Smith.= By Jeffery Farnol. + +=Betrayal, The.= By E. Phillips Oppenheim. + +=Beyond the Frontier.= By Randall Parrish. + +=Big Timber.= By Bertrand W. Sinclair. + +=Black Is White.= By George Barr McCutcheon. + +=Blind Man's Eyes, The.= By Wm. MacHarg and Edwin Balmer. + +=Bob, Son of Battle.= By Alfred Ollivant. + +=Boston Blackie.= By Jack Boyle. + +=Boy with Wings, The.= By Berta Ruck. + +=Brandon of the Engineers.= By Harold Bindloss. + +=Broad Highway, The.= By Jeffery Farnol. + +=Brown Study, The.= By Grace S. Richmond. + +=Bruce of the Circle A.= By Harold Titus. + +=Buck Peters, Ranchman.= By Clarence E. Mulford. + +=Business of Life, The.= By Robert W. Chambers. + + +=Cabbages and Kings.= By O. Henry. + +=Cabin Fever.= By B. M. Bower. + +=Calling of Dan Matthews, The.= By Harold Bell Wright. + +=Cape Cod Stories.= By Joseph C. Lincoln. + +=Cap'n Abe, Storekeeper.= By James A. Cooper. + +=Cap'n Dan's Daughter.= By Joseph C. Lincoln. + +=Cap'n Eri.= By Joseph C. Lincoln. + +=Cap'n Jonah's Fortune.= By James A. Cooper. + +=Cap'n Warren's Wards.= By Joseph C. Lincoln. + +=Chain of Evidence, A.= By Carolyn Wells. + +=Chief Legatee, The.= By Anna Katharine Green. + +=Cinderella Jane.= By Marjorie B. Cooke. + +=Cinema Murder, The.= By E. Phillips Oppenheim. + +=City of Masks, The.= By George Barr McCutcheon. + +=Cleek of Scotland Yard.= By T. W. Hanshew. + +=Cleek, The Man of Forty Faces.= By Thomas W. Hanshew. + +=Cleek's Government Cases.= By Thomas W. Hanshew. + +=Clipped Wings.= By Rupert Hughes. + +=Clue, The.= By Carolyn Wells. + +=Clutch of Circumstance, The.= By Marjorie Benton Cooke. + +=Coast of Adventure, The.= By Harold Bindloss. + +=Coming of Cassidy, The.= By Clarence E. Mulford. + +=Coming of the Law, The.= By Chas. A. Seltzer. + +=Conquest of Canaan, The.= By Booth Tarkington. + +=Conspirators, The.= By Robert W. Chambers. + +=Court of Inquiry, A.= By Grace S. Richmond. + +=Cow Puncher, The.= By Robert J. C. Stead. + +=Crimson Gardenia, The, and Other Tales of Adventure.= By Rex Beach. + +=Cross Currents.= By Author of "Pollyanna." + +=Cry in the Wilderness, A.= By Mary E. Waller. + + +=Danger, And Other Stories.= By A. Conan Doyle. + +=Dark Hollow, The.= By Anna Katharine Green. + +=Dark Star, The.= By Robert W. Chambers. + +=Daughter Pays, The.= By Mrs. Baillie Reynolds. + +=Day of Days, The.= By Louis Joseph Vance. + +=Depot Master, The.= By Joseph C. Lincoln. + +=Desired Woman, The.= By Will N. Harben. + +=Destroying Angel, The.= By Louis Jos. Vance. + +=Devil's Own, The.= By Randall Parrish. + +=Double Traitor, The.= By E. Phillips Oppenheim. + + +=Empty Pockets.= By Rupert Hughes. + +=Eyes of the Blind, The.= By Arthur Somers Roche. + +=Eye of Dread, The.= By Payne Erskine. + +=Eyes of the World, The.= By Harold Bell Wright. + +=Extricating Obadiah.= By Joseph C. Lincoln. + + +=Felix O'Day.= By F. Hopkinson Smith. + +=54-40 or Fight.= By Emerson Hough. + +=Fighting Chance, The.= By Robert W. Chambers. + +=Fighting Shepherdess, The.= By Caroline Lockhart. + +=Financier, The.= By Theodore Dreiser. + +=Flame, The.= By Olive Wadsley. + +=Flamsted Quarries.= By Mary E. Wallar. + +=Forfeit, The.= By Ridgwell Cullum. + +=Four Million, The.= By O. Henry. + +=Fruitful Vine, The.= By Robert Hichens. + +=Further Adventures of Jimmie Dale, The.= By Frank L. Packard. + + +=Girl of the Blue Ridge, A.= By Payne Erskine. + +=Girl from Keller's, The.= By Harold Bindloss. + +=Girl Philippa, The.= By Robert W. Chambers. + +=Girls at His Billet, The.= By Berta Ruck. + +=God's Country and the Woman.= By James Oliver Curwood. + +=Going Some.= By Rex Beach. + +=Golden Slipper, The.= By Anna Katharine Green. + +=Golden Woman, The.= By Ridgwell Cullum. + +=Greater Love Hath No Man.= By Frank L. Packard. + +=Greyfriars Bobby.= By Eleanor Atkinson. + +=Gun Brand, The.= By James B. Hendryx. + + +=Halcyone.= By Elinor Glyn. + +=Hand of Fu-Manchu, The.= By Sax Rohmer. + +=Havoc.= By E. Phillips Oppenheim. + +=Heart of the Desert, The.= By Honore Willsie. + +=Heart of the Hills, The.= By John Fox, Jr. + +=Heart of the Sunset.= By Rex Beach. + +=Heart of Thunder Mountain, The.= By Edfrid A. Bingham. + +=Her Weight in Gold.= By Geo. B. McCutcheon. + +=Hidden Children, The.= By Robert W. Chambers. + +=Hidden Spring, The.= By Clarence B. Kelland. + +=Hillman, The.= By E. Phillips Oppenheim. + +=Hills of Refuge, The.= By Will N. Harben. + +=His Official Fiancee.= By Berta Ruck. + +=Honor of the Big Snows.= By James Oliver Curwood. + +=Hopalong Cassidy.= By Clarence E. Mulford. + +=Hound from the North, The.= By Ridgwell Cullum. + +=House of the Whispering Pines, The.= By Anna Katharine Green. + +=Hugh Wynne, Free Quaker.= By S. Weir Mitchell, M.D. + + +=I Conquered.= By Harold Titus. + +=Illustrious Prince, The.= By E. Phillips Oppenheim. + +=In Another Girl's Shoes.= By Berta Ruck. + +=Indifference of Juliet, The.= By Grace S. Richmond. + +=Infelice.= By Augusta Evans Wilson. + +=Initials Only.= By Anna Katharine Green. + +=Inner Law, The.= By Will N. Harben. + +=Innocent.= By Marie Corelli. + +=Insidious Dr. Fu-Manchu, The.= By Sax Rohmer. + +=In the Brooding Wild.= By Ridgwell Cullum. + +=Intriguers, The.= By Harold Bindloss. + +=Iron Trail, The.= By Rex Beach. + +=Iron Woman, The.= By Margaret Deland. + +=I Spy.= By Natalie Sumner Lincoln. + + +=Japonette.= By Robert W. Chambers. + +=Jean of the Lazy A.= By B. M. Bower. + +=Jeanne of the Marshes.= By E. Phillips Oppenheim. + +=Jennie Gerhardt.= By Theodore Dreiser. + +=Judgment House, The.= By Gilbert Parker. + + +=Keeper of the Door, The.= By Ethel M. Dell. + +=Keith of the Border.= By Randall Parrish. + +=Kent Knowles: Quahaug.= By Joseph C. Lincoln. + +=Kingdom of the Blind, The.= By E. Phillips Oppenheim. + + * * * * * + +Transcriber's Notes + +Page 17, word "have" added to the text (mom would have lived) + +Page 171, word "the" added to the text (in the bank) + +Page 181, "esctatic" changed to "ecstatic" (ecstatic trill of) + +Page 315, word "the" added to the text (mentioned the operation) + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Patchwork, by Anna Balmer Myers + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PATCHWORK *** + +***** This file should be named 22827.txt or 22827.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/2/8/2/22827/ + +Produced by Suzanne Lybarger, Emille and the Booksmiths +at http://www.eBookForge.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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