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 mea