"Mother Bab!" I gave her a real hug like I used to do when I ran barefooted up the hill with some childish perplexity and she helped me. "You're an angel! Mother Bab, David, having a good time won't hurt me. Our views up home are too narrow. It's all right to expect older people to do nothing more exciting than go to Greenwald to the store, to church every Sunday, to an occasional quilting or carpet-rag party, and to Lancaster to shop several times a year, but the younger generation needs other things." "I guess you mean it can't be Lent all the time for you," she suggested with a smile. "I just knew you'd understand." Just then Royal began to play and the music floated in to us. It was Traumerei. Mother Bab's tired face relaxed as she leaned back to listen to the piercingly sweet melody. David looked at me--I knew he was asking whether the player was Royal Lee. "Oh, Davie," Mother Bab said innocently as the music ended, "if only you could play like that!" "If I could," he said half bitterly, "but all I can do is farm. Are you coming home this spring?" he asked me, as if to forget the violin and its player. "I don't know. I'll probably stay here until early June. I may go away with Virginia for part of the summer." "Not be home for spring and summer!" he said dismally. "Why, it won't be spring without you! We can't go for bird-foot violets or arbutus." Arbutus--the name called up a host of memories to me. "How I'd like to go for arbutus this spring," I told him. "Then come home in April and I'll take you to Mt. Hope for some." "Oh, David, will you?" "I'd love to. We'll drive up." "I'll come," I promised. "I'll come home for arbutus. Let me know when they're out." "All right. But I think we must go now or we'll miss the train." "Go?" I echoed. "You're not going home to-night? Can't you stay? Mrs. McCrea has vacant rooms. I've been so excited I forgot my manners. Let me take you to the sitting-room and introduce you to Mrs. Lee and Royal." "Ach, no," Mother Bab protested. "We can't stay that long. We just stopped in to see you." David looked at his watch. "We must go now. There's a train at eight-twenty-one gets to Lancaster at ten-forty-five and we'll get the last car out to Greenwald and Phares will meet us and drive us home." I asked about the home folks as I watched David adjust Mother Bab's shawl. He looked older and worried. I suppose he was disappointed because the Big Doctor didn't promise a quick cure for Mother Bab's eyes. As they said good-bye and left me I wanted to run after them and ask them to take me home, back to the simple life of my people. But I stayed where I was, the earthiest worldling in a dress of unworldliness. "I--I believe I'll take it off," I thought as I stood in the doorway. Just then Royal opened the door and saw me. "Ye Gods!" he exclaimed, "you look like a saint, Phœbe." "But I'm not! I'm far from being a saint!"