Part 29 (1/2)
CHAPTER XV
THE FLEDGLING'S FLIGHT
PHBE found the packing of her trunk a task not altogether without pain.
As she gathered her few treasures from her room a feeling of desolation seemed to pervade the place. Going away from home for the first long stay, however bright the new place of sojourn, brings to most hearts an undercurrent of sadness.
She smiled a bit wistfully at her few treasures--her books, an old picture of her mother, the little Testament Aunt Maria gave her to read, the few trinkets her school friends had given her from time to time, a little kodak picture of Mother Bab and David in the flower garden.
At last the dreary task was done, the trunk strapped, and she was ready for the journey. It was a perfect September day when she left the gray farmhouse, drove in the country road and stood with her father, Aunt Maria, Mother Bab, David and Phares at the railroad station in Greenwald and waited for the noon train to Philadelphia.
Jacob Metz and the preacher made brave, though visible, efforts to be cheerful; Maria Metz made no effort to be anything except very greatly worried and anxious; but Mother Bab and David were determined that the girl's departure was to be nothing less than pleasant.
”Now be sure, Phbe,” said Aunt Maria for the tenth time, ”to ask the conductor at Reading if that train is for Phildelphy before you get on, and at Phildelphy you wait till Miss Lee fetches you.”
”Yes, Aunt Maria, I'll be careful.”
”And don't lose your trunk check--David, did you give it to her for sure?”
”Yes. She'll hold on to it, don't you worry.”
”Phbe will be all right,” said Mother Bab.
”And,” said David teasingly, ”be sure to let me know when you need that beet juice and cream and flour.”
”Davie! Now for that I won't write to you!”
”Yes you will!” His eyes looked so long into hers that she said confusedly, ”Ach, I'll write. Mind that you take good care of Mother Bab and stop in sometimes to see how Aunt Maria and daddy are getting on without me.”
”Ach, we'll be all right,” said Aunt Maria. ”Just you take care of yourself so far away from home. And if you get homesick you come right home. Anyway, you come home soon to see us; and be sure to write every week still.”
”Yes, yes!”
A shrill whistle announced the approach of the train. There were hurried kisses and good-byes, a handshake for the preacher and, last of all, a handshake for David. He held her hand so long that she cried out, ”David, you'll make me miss the train!”
”No--good-bye.”
”Good-bye, David.” Then she tugged at her hand and in a moment was hurrying to the train.
There were few pa.s.sengers that day, so the train made a short stop.
Phbe smiled as the train started, leaned forward and waved till the familiar group was lost to her view, then she settled herself with a brave little smile and looked at the well-known fields and meadows she was pa.s.sing. The trees on Cemetery Hill were silhouetted against the blue sky just as she had seen them many times in her walks about the country.
But soon the old landmarks disappeared and unknown fields lay about her.
Crude rail fences divided acres of rustling corn from orchards whose trees were laden with red apples or downy peaches. Occasionally flocks of startled birds rose from fields freshly plowed for the fall sowing of wheat. Huge red barns and s.p.a.cious open tobacco sheds, hung with drying tobacco, gave evidence of the prosperity of the farmers of that section.
Little schoolhouses were dotted here and there along the road. Flowers bloomed by the wayside and in them Phbe was especially interested.
Goldenrod in such great profusion that it seemed the very suns.h.i.+ne of the skies was imprisoned in flower form, stag-horn sumac with its grape-like cl.u.s.ters of red adding brilliancy to the landscape--everywhere was manifest the dawn of autumnal glory, the splendor that foreruns decay, the beauty that is but the first step in nature's transition from blossom and harvest to mystery and sleep.