long as he can have
her too. I'll ask him once when I see him. I wonder who's goin' on the
road to Greenwald."

She gathered up her long skirt and stepped grandly across the bare floor
of the attic. As she stood by the window a boyish whistle floated up to
her. She leaned over the narrow sill and peered through the evergreen
trees at the road.

"That's David now, I bet! Sounds like his whistle. Oo-oo, David," she
called as the boy came swinging down the road.

"Hello, Phoebe. Where you at?"

He turned in at the gate and looked around.

"Whew," he whistled as he glanced up and saw her at the little window of
the attic. "What you doing up there?"

"Playin' primer donner. I just look something grand. Wait, I'll come
down."

"Sure, come on down and let me see you. I'm going to hang around a
while. Mom's here quilting, ain't she?"

"Sh!" Phoebe raised a warning finger, then placed her hands to her mouth
to shut the sound of her voice from the people in the gray house. "You
sneak round to the kitchen door, to the back one, so they can't hear
you, and I'll come down. Aunt Maria mightn't like my hair and dress, and
I don't want to make her cross on my birthday. Be careful, don't make no
noise."

"Ha," laughed the boy. "Bet you're sneaking things, you little rascal."

Phoebe lifted her finger, shook her head, then smiled and turned from
the window. She tiptoed down the dark attic stairs, then down the narrow
back stairs to the kitchen and slipped quietly to the little porch at
the very rear of the house.

"Gee whiz!" exclaimed David. "You're a swell in that dress!"

"Ain't I--I mean am I--ach, David, it's hard sometimes to talk like Miss
Lee says we should."

"Where'd you get the dress, Phoebe?"

"Up in the garret. Aunt Maria said I dare go up and play 'cause it's my
birthday."

"Hold on, that's just what I came for, to pull your ears."

"No you don't," she said crossly. "No you don't, David Eby, pull my
ears." She clapped a hand upon each ear.

"Then I'll pull a curl," he said and suited the action to the word. He
took one of the long light curls and pulled it gently, yet with a
brusque show of savagery and strength--"One, two, three, four, five,
six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, and one to make you grow. Now who
says I can't celebrate your birthday!"

"You're mean, awful mean, David Eby!" She tossed her head in anger. But
a moment later she relented as she saw him smile. "Ach," she said in
friendly