y sometimes sighed as he compared the two farms and
wondered why Fate had bestowed upon his uncle's efforts an almost
unparalleled success while his own father had had a continual struggle
to hold on to the few acres of the little farm. Since the death of his
father David had often felt the straining of the yoke. It was toil,
toil, on acres which were rich but apparently unwilling to yield their
fullness. One year the crops were damaged by hail, another year
prolonged drought prevented full development of the fruit, again
continued rainy weather ruined the hay, and so on, year in and year out,
there was seldom a season when the farm measured up to the expectations
of the hard-working David.

But Mother Bab never complained about the ill-luck, neither did she envy
the woman in the great house next to her. Mother Bab's philosophy of
life was mainly cheerful:

"I find earth not gray, but rosy,
Heaven not grim, but fair of hue.
Do I stoop? I pluck a posy.
Do I stand and stare? All's blue."

A little house to shelter her, a big garden in which to work, to dream,
to live; enough worldly goods to supply daily sustenance; the love of
her David--truly her BELOVED, as the old Hebrew name signifies--the love
of the dear Phoebe who had adopted her--given these blessings and no
envy or discontent ever ventured near the white-capped woman. Life had
brought her many hours of perplexity and several great sorrows, but it
had also bestowed upon her compensating joys. She felt that the years
would bring her new joys, now that her boy was grown into a man and was
able to manage the farm. Some day he would bring home a wife--how she
would love David's wife! But meanwhile, she was not lonely. Her friends
and she were much together, quilting, rugging, comparing notes on the
garden.

"Guess Mother Bab'll be in the garden," thought Phoebe, "for it's such a
fine day."

But as she neared the whitewashed fence of the garden she saw that the
place was deserted. She ran lightly up the walk, rapped at the kitchen
door, and entered without waiting for an answer to her knock.

"Mother Bab," she called.

"I'm here, Phoebe," came a voice from the sitting-room.

"How are you? Is your headache all gone?" Phoebe asked as she ran to the
beloved person who came to meet her.

"All gone. I was so disappointed last night--but what have you done to
your hair?"

"Oh, I forgot!" Phoebe lifted her head proudly. "I