Patchwork Part 36

"I think you're splendid, Aunt Maria, to help the Red Cross," she said with enthusiasm.

The woman looked up from her knitting. "Why, how dumb you talk! I guess abody wants to help. Them soldiers are fightin' for us. Now you can get yourself something to eat. It vonders me, anyhow, why you come home this time of the year. You said you'd stay till June."

"I came because I want to be here."

"So. Then I guess you got enough once of the city."

"Yes," said Phbe, laughing. "But how is everybody?"

"All pretty good. But a lot of boys from round here went a'ready to enlist. I ain't for war, but I guess it has to come sometimes. But it's hard for them that has boys."

"David?" Phbe asked. "Has he gone?"

"Ach, no, not him. He's got his mom to take care of."

Phbe remembered Virginia's words, "We can't get away from it, we're in it." The thought of them made her feel depressed. "I'm going to forget the war," she thought after a moment, "I'm going to forget it for to-morrow and have one perfect day in the mountains hunting arbutus."

CHAPTER XXVII

TRAILING ARBUTUS

IT was a balmy day in April when Phbe and David drove over the country roads to the mountains where the trailing arbutus grow.

"Spring o' the year," called the meadow-larks in clear, piercing tones.

"It is spring o' the year," said Phbe. "I know it now. But last week I felt sure that the calendar was wrong and I wondered whether G.o.d made only English sparrows this year; that was all I could see. Then I saw a few birds early this week when we went along the Wissahickon for a long walk. Oh, no," she said in answer to the unspoken question in his eyes, "I did not go alone with a man. In Philadelphia one does not do that. I went properly chaperoned by Mrs. Hale. Virginia and Royal and several others were in the party. You should have been there; you would have enjoyed it for you know so much about birds and flowers. Royal didn't know a spring beauty from a bloodroot, and when we heard a song-sparrow he said it was a thrush."

David threw back his head and laughed. "Some nature student he must be!

But it must be fine along the Wissahickon. I have read about it."

"It is fine, but this is finer."

"You better say so!"

"Oh, look, David, the soil is pink!" She pointed to a tilled field whose soil was colored a soft old rose color. "I'm always glad to see the pink soil."

"So am I. It means that we are getting near the mountains. We'll drive over to Hull's tavern and leave the carriage there, then we can go to the patch of woods near the tavern where we used to find the great beauties, the fine big ones. There's the old tavern now." He pointed to a building with a fine background of wooded hills.

Hull's tavern, a rambling structure erected in 1812, is still an interesting stopping-place for summer excursionists and travelers through that mountainous section of Pennsylvania. Situated on the south side of the beautiful South Mountains and overlooking the richest of hills, it has long been a popular roadhouse, accommodating many pleasure parties and hikers.

Phbe wandered about on the long porches while David took the horse to the stable.

"Now then," he said as he joined her, "give me the lunch box and we'll be off."

They walked a short distance in the loamy soil of the mountain road and then turned aside and scrambled up a steep bank to a tract of woodland.

Phbe sank on her knees in the dry, brown leaves and pushed aside the leaves. "There," she cried in triumph a moment later, "I found the first one!" She lifted a small cl.u.s.ter of trailing arbutus and gave it to David.

"Um-ah," he said, in imitation of a little girl of long ago.

"Little Dutchie," she answered. "But you can't provoke me to-day. I'm too happy to be peevish. Come, kneel down, you'll never find arbutus when you stand up."

"I'm down," he said as he knelt beside her. "I'd go on my knees to find arbutus any day."

"So would I---- Oh, look at this--and this! They are perfect." She fairly trembled with joy as she uncovered the waxlike flowers of dainty pink and white. "I could bury my nose in them forever."

"They are perfect," agreed the man. "Fancy living where you never saw any arbutus or had the joy of picking them."

"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," Phbe 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," Phbe 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 Phbe 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. Phbe 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."

She climbed to the top of the boulder and they sat side by side, the lunch box resting on David's knees.

"Now anything you want ask for," said he.