Both were plainly country boys accustomed to hard farm work, but their tanned faces were frank and honest under broad straw hats. Each bore marked family resemblances in their big frames, dark eyes and well-shaped heads, but there was a distinct line drawn between their personalities. Phares Eby at sixteen was grave, studious and dignified; his cousin, David, two years younger, was a cheery, laughing, sociable boy, fond of boyish sports, delighting in teasing his schoolmates and enjoying their retaliation, preferring a tramp through the woods to the best book ever written. The boys lived on adjacent farms and had long been the nearest neighbors of the Metz family; thus they had become Phœbe's playmates. Then, too, the Eby families were members of the Church of the Brethren, the mothers of the boys were old friends of Maria Metz, and a deep friendship existed among them all. Phœbe and the two boys attended the same little country school and had become frankly fond of each other. "What's wrong?" asked Phares again as Phœbe hung her head and remained silent. "Ach," laughed David, "somebody's broke her dolly." "Nobody ain't not broke my dolly, David Eby!" she said crossly. "I wouldn't cry for _that_!" "What's wrong then?--come on, Phœbe." He pushed the sunbonnet back and patted her roguishly on the head. But she drew away from him. "Don't you touch me," she cried. "I'm a Dutchie!" "What?" She tossed her head and became silent again. "Come on, tell me," coaxed David. "I want to know what's wrong. Why, if you don't tell me I'll be so worried I won't be able to eat any dinner, and I'm so hungry now I could eat nails." The girl laughed suddenly in spite of herself--"Ach, David, you're awful simple! Abody has to laugh at you. I was mad, for when I was in Greenwald I was smellin' a rose, that pink rose you gave me, and some lady on Mollie Stern's porch laughed at me and called me a LITTLE DUTCHIE! Now wouldn't you got mad for that?" But David threw back his head and laughed. "And you were ready to cry at that?" he said. "Why, I'm a Dutchie, so is Phares, so's most of the people round here. Ain't so, Phares?" "Yes, guess so," the older boy assented, his eyes still upon Phœbe. "D'ye know," he said, addressing her, "when you were cross a few minutes ago your eyes were almost black. You shouldn't get so angry still, Phœbe." "I don't care," she retorted quickly, "I don't care if my eyes was purple!" "But you should care," persisted the boy gravely. "I don't like you so angry." "Ach," she flashed an indignant look at him--"Phares Eby, you're by far too bossy! I like David best; he don't boss me all the time like you do!" David laughed but Phares appeared hurt. Phœbe was quick to note it. "Now I hurt you like that lady hurt me, ain't, Phares?" she said contritely. "But I didn't mean to hurt you, Phares, honest." "But you like me best," said David gaily. "You can't take that back, remember."