"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," Phœbe 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 without Mother Bab! My life was different, somehow, after she allowed me to adopt her." "She's great, isn't she?" "Wonderful! I have many friends, many new ones, many dear ones, but there is only one Mother Bab." The man's hands trembled among the arbutus--did the admiration touch Mother Bab's son? Could the dreams of his heart ever come true? "You know," Phœbe went on, "if I could always have her near me, in the same house, I'd be less unworthy of calling her Mother Bab." It was well that she bent over the dry leaves and blossoms and missed the look that flooded the face of the man for a moment. She wanted to be with Mother Bab--should he tell her of his love? But the very fact that she spoke thus was evidence that she did not love him as he desired. And the war must change his most cherished plans for the future, change them greatly for a time. If he went and never returned it would be harder for her if he went as her lover. As it was he was merely her old comrade and friend; he could read from her manner that no deeper feeling had touched her--not for him, but he wondered about the musician---- The spell was broken when Phœbe spoke again: "Do you know, Davie, I read somewhere that arbutus can't be made to grow anywhere except in its own woods, that the most skilful hand of man or woman can't transplant it to a garden where the soil is different from its native soil." "I never heard that before, but I remember that I tried several times and failed. I dug up a big box of the soil to make it grow, but it lasted several months and died. Let us go along this path and find a new bed; we have almost cleaned this one." "See"--she raised her bunch of flowers--"I didn't take a single root, so next year when we come we shall find as many as this year. They are too altogether lovely to be exterminated." They moved about the woods, finding new patches of the fragrant flowers, until they declared it would be robbery to take another one. "Let's eat," she suggested; "I'm hungry as a bear." "Race you to that big rock," cried David and began to run. Phœbe followed through the brush and dry leaves, but the farmer covered the distance too quickly for her. "Now I'm hungry," she said, panting; "I'll eat more than my share of the lunch."