ab 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 t