She paused . . . only the sounds of nature invaded the quiet of the place: the drowsy hum of diligent bees, the cattle browsing in a field near by, the ecstatic trill of a bird. The world of bustle and flurry with its seething vats of evil and corruption, its sordid discontent and petulance, its ways of pain and darkness, seemed far removed from that place of peace and calm solitude. Phœbe could not bear to think that across the seas men were lying in the filth of water-soaked trenches, agonizing and bleeding on the battlefields and suffering nameless tortures in hospitals that a peace like unto the peace of her quiet haven might brood undisturbed over the world in future generations. She dismissed the harrowing thought of war--she would enjoy the calm of her quarry. The preacher had listened silently to the girl's rhapsodies--she suddenly awakened to the realization that he was paying scant attention to her enthusiastic words. She looked at him, her heart-beats quickened, some intuition warned her of the imminent declaration. She rose quickly from the embrace of the sycamore tree, but the compelling eyes of the preacher restrained her from flight. She stood before him, within reach of his hands. His first words reassured her somewhat: "Phœbe, your aunt has told me that you are going to Philadelphia to study music." "Yes. Isn't it fine! I'm so happy----" she stopped. Displeasure was written plainly upon his countenance. "Don't you think it's all right, Phares?" "I think it is a great mistake," he said gravely. "Why not spend your time on something of value to yourself and your friends and the world in general?" "But music is of great value. Why, the world needs it as it needs sunshine!" "But, Phœbe, you must remember you do not come of a people who stand before the worldly and lift their voices for the joy of the multitude of curious people. Your voice is right as it is and needs no training. It is as God gave it to you and is made to be used in His service, in His Church and your home." "But I have always wanted to learn to sing well, really well. So I am going to Philadelphia this winter and take lessons from a competent teacher." "Phœbe," exhorted the preacher, "put away the temptation before it grips you so strongly that you cannot shake it off. You must not go!" He spoke the last words in a tone of authority which the girl answered, "Phares, let us speak of something else. You know I have some of the Metz determination in my make-up and I can't be easily forced to give up a cherished plan. At any rate, we must not quarrel about it."