y 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