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