een--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