"Ach, if your man's like mine he can eat cake any time." She opened a door that led to the cellar and soon returned with a plate piled high with cake. "Now eat," she invited. "But, ach, I just thought of it--you said you come from Greenwald--then I guess you know about Caleb Warner dying, killing himself, or something." "Caleb Warner dying!" David echoed. He half started from his chair, then sank with a visible effort at self-control. "Yes. I guess you know him. My mister was in to dinner a while ago and he said it went over the 'phone at Risser's and Jacob Risser told him that Caleb Warner of Greenwald was dead. It was from gas or something funny like that. It's the Warner that sold that oil stock and gold stock. You know him?" David nodded, his lips dry. "Well, I guess now a lot of people will lose money. There's a lady lives near here that gave him almost all her money for some of his stock. For a while she got big interest from it, but then it stopped and now she ain't got hardly enough money to live. And I guess a lot will lose money. My mister had no time for that stock. But if the man's dead now we should let him rest, I guess." "Yes----" David braced himself. "The rain is over. Phœbe, we must go." He smiled to the little woman as he gripped her hand. "You have been very kind to us and we appreciate it." "Yes, indeed," echoed Phœbe. "I hope we have not kept you from your work." "Ach, I can work enough to-day yet. I like company and I don't have much of it week-days. Um, ain't it good smelly after the rain?" She sniffed, smiling, as she followed Phœbe and David down the path to the barnyard. "Good-bye," she called as they drove off. "Safe home." "Thank you. Good-bye," Phœbe called over the side of the carriage. Then, as they entered again upon the country road, she turned to her place beside David. She looked up at him. All the light and joy had faded from his face; he stared straight head, though he must have felt her eyes' intent gaze upon him. "David," she said softly, "what is wrong?" "Nothing," he lied. "Seems you look different," she persisted. "Is it anything about Caleb Warner's death?" "I'm not much of a stoic, Phœbe. I should have hidden my worry. But you must forget it; we must not let it spoil our perfect day. It really is no great matter. I am affected, in some way you can't know, by his death, but I'll get over it," he tried to treat the matter lightly.