Part 24 (2/2)
”I know, Phares, but I can't make it different. When Jacob says a thing once it's hard to change him, and she is like that too. They fixed it up last night and I had no say at all. All I said against her going did as much good as if I said it to the chairs in the kitchen. Phbe is going to get Miss Lee, the one that was teacher on the hill once, to help her.
And Miss Lee has a cousin that lives with her and he plays the fiddle and he is goin' to get a teacher for her.”
Phares Eby groaned and gritted his teeth.
”I guess I'll go talk with her a while,” he decided.
”Mebbe she'll come in soon, if you want to wait. I told her to bring me some pennyroyal along from the field next the quarry. You know that's so good for them little red ants, and they got into my jelly cupboard. She went a while ago and I guess she'll soon be back now.”
”I think I'll walk over.”
”All right, Phares. Tell her not to forget the pennyroyal.”
With long strides the preacher crossed the road and started up the lane to the quarry. There he slackened his pace--he thought of the previous day when he had asked Phbe about entering the Church. She had disappointed him, it was true, but she had seemed so eager to do right, so innocent and childlike, that the interview had not left him wholly unhappy or greatly discouraged. He had hoped last night that she would give the matter of her soul's salvation serious thought, that she would soon stand in the stream and be baptized by him. Over sanguine he had been--so soon she had forgotten serious things and planned a winter in Philadelphia studying music.
”I must act,” he thought. ”I must tell her of my love. All these years I have loved her and kept silent about it because I thought she was just a child. But I must tell her now. If she loves me she shall marry me soon and this great temptation will leave her; she will hearken to the voice of her conscience, and we will begin our life of happiness together.”
With this resolution strong within him he went up the lane to the quarry and Phbe.
She was seated on a rock under the giant sycamore and leaned confidingly against the s.h.a.ggy trunk. The glaring suns.h.i.+ne that fell upon the fields and hills could not wholly penetrate the protecting canopy of well-proportioned sycamore leaves; only a few quivering rays fell upon the girl's upturned face.
As the preacher approached she looked around quickly but did not move from her caressing att.i.tude by the tree.
”Good-morning, Phares. I'm glad you came. I was wis.h.i.+ng for some one to share the old quarry with me this morning.”
”Aunt Maria told me you were here--she is impatient for her pennyroyal.”
Now, that the supreme moment had arrived, he hesitated and grasped at the first straw for conversation.
”Oh, dear,” she said childishly, ”Aunt Maria expects me to remember ants and pennyroyal when I come here. Phares, I can't explain it, but this old quarry has a strange fascination for me. The beauty in its variegated stone with the sunlight upon it attracts me. Sometimes I am tempted to climb up the hill and hang over the quarry and look down into the heart of it.”
”Don't ever do that!” cried the preacher.
”I won't,” laughed Phbe. ”I don't want to die just yet. But isn't it the loveliest place! I come here often when the men are not blasting. It seems almost a desecration to blast these rocks when we think how long nature took in their making.”
She paused . . . only the sounds of nature invaded the quiet of the place: the drowsy hum of diligent bees, the cattle browsing in a field near by, the ecstatic trill of a bird. The world of bustle and flurry with its seething vats of evil and corruption, its sordid discontent and petulance, its ways of pain and darkness, seemed far removed from that place of peace and calm solitude. Phbe could not bear to think that across the seas men were lying in the filth of water-soaked trenches, agonizing and bleeding on the battlefields and suffering nameless tortures in hospitals that a peace like unto the peace of her quiet haven might brood undisturbed over the world in future generations. She dismissed the harrowing thought of war--she would enjoy the calm of her quarry.
The preacher had listened silently to the girl's rhapsodies--she suddenly awakened to the realization that he was paying scant attention to her enthusiastic words. She looked at him, her heart-beats quickened, some intuition warned her of the imminent declaration.
She rose quickly from the embrace of the sycamore tree, but the compelling eyes of the preacher restrained her from flight. She stood before him, within reach of his hands.
His first words rea.s.sured her somewhat: ”Phbe, your aunt has told me that you are going to Philadelphia to study music.”
”Yes. Isn't it fine! I'm so happy----” she stopped. Displeasure was written plainly upon his countenance. ”Don't you think it's all right, Phares?”
”I think it is a great mistake,” he said gravely. ”Why not spend your time on something of value to yourself and your friends and the world in general?”
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