She gave him a scornful look. Then she remembered the flag in the Hogendobler garden and became happy and eager again as she said, "Oh, Phares, David, I know the best secret!" "Can't keep it, I bet!" challenged David. "Can't I?" she retorted saucily. "Now for that I won't tell you till you get good and anxious. But then it's not really a secret." The flag of growing flowers was too glorious a thing to keep; she compromised--"I'll tell you, because it's not a real secret." And she proceeded to unfold with earnest gesticulations the story about the flowers of red and white and blue and the invitation for all who cared to come and see the colors of Old Glory growing in the garden of Old Aaron and Granny, and of the added pleasure of hearing Old Aaron tell his thrilling story of the battle of Gettysburg. "I won't want to hear about any battle," said Phares. "I think war is horrible, awful, wicked." "Mebbe so," said the girl, "but the poor men who fight in wars ain't always awful, horrible, wicked. You needn't turn your nose up at the old soldiers. Folks call Old Aaron lazy, I heard 'em a'ready, lots of times, but I bet some of them wouldn't have fought like he did and left a leg at Gettysburg and--ach, I think Old Aaron is just vonderful grand!" she ended in an impulsive burst of eloquence. "Hooray!" shouted David. "So do I! When he carries the flag out the pike every Decoration Day he's somebody, all right." "Ain't now!" agreed Phœbe. "Been in the stores?" David asked her, feeling that a change of subject might be wise. "Yes." "See anything pretty?" "Ach, yes. A lots of things. I saw the prettiest finger ring with a blue stone in. I wish I had it." "What would Aunt Maria say to that?" wondered David. "Ach, she'd say that so long as my finger ain't broke I don't need a band on it. But I looked at the ring at any rate and wished I had it." "You dare never wear gold rings," Phares told her. "Not now," she returned, "but some day when I'm older mebbe I'll wear a lot of 'em if I want." The words set the boys thinking. Each wondered what manner of woman their little playmate would become. "I bet she'll be a good-looking one," thought David. "She'd look swell dressed up fine like some of the people I see in town." "Of course she'll turn plain some day like her aunt," thought the other boy. "She'll look nice in the plain dress and the white cap." Phœbe, ignorant of the visions her innocent words had called to the hearts of her comrades, chattered on until they reached the little green gate of the Metz farm. "Now you two must climb the hill yet. I'm glad I'm home. I'm hungry." "And me," the boys answered, and with good-byes were off on the winding road up the hill. As Phœbe turned the corner of the big gray house she came face to face with her father. "So here you are, Phœbe," he said, smiling at sight of her. "Your Aunt Maria sent me out to look if you were coming. It's time to eat. Been to the store, ain't?"