near the mountains. We'll drive
over to Hull's tavern and leave the carriage there, then we can go to
the patch of woods near the tavern where we used to find the great
beauties, the fine big ones. There's the old tavern now." He pointed to
a building with a fine background of wooded hills.

Hull's tavern, a rambling structure erected in 1812, is still an
interesting stopping-place for summer excursionists and travelers
through that mountainous section of Pennsylvania. Situated on the south
side of the beautiful South Mountains and overlooking the richest of
hills, it has long been a popular roadhouse, accommodating many pleasure
parties and hikers.

Phoebe wandered about on the long porches while David took the horse to
the stable.

"Now then," he said as he joined her, "give me the lunch box and we'll
be off."

They walked a short distance in the loamy soil of the mountain road and
then turned aside and scrambled up a steep bank to a tract of woodland.
Phoebe sank on her knees in the dry, brown leaves and pushed aside the
leaves. "There," she cried in triumph a moment later, "I found the first
one!" She lifted a small cluster of trailing arbutus and gave it to
David.

"Um-ah," he said, in imitation of a little girl of long ago.

"Little Dutchie," she answered. "But you can't provoke me to-day. I'm
too happy to be peevish. Come, kneel down, you'll never find arbutus
when you stand up."

"I'm down," he said as he knelt beside her. "I'd go on my knees to find
arbutus any day."

"So would I---- Oh, look at this--and this! They are perfect." She
fairly trembled with joy as she uncovered the waxlike flowers of dainty
pink and white. "I could bury my nose in them forever."

"They are perfect," agreed the man. "Fancy living where you never saw
any arbutus or had the joy of picking them."

"I don't want to fancy that, it's too delicious being where they do
grow. Won't Mother Bab love them?"

"Yes. She'll keep them for days in water. That flower you gave her in
Philadelphia lasted four days."

"These are better," Phoebe said quickly, anxious to shut out all
thoughts of the city. Now that she was in the woods again she knew how
hungry she had been for them. "I am going to pick a bunch of big ones
for Mother Bab."

"She would like the small ones every whit as much," the man declared.

"Perhaps better," she mused. "She would say they are just as sweet and
pretty. David, I don't know what I should have done with