"Phares has nothing to do with it," Phoebe said curtly, her cheeks
flushing deeper at the thought of the words she knew her aunt was ready
to say. "This is my affair, and, of course, yours and daddy's." She
turned to her father--"I want to study music."

"Music? How--you mean to learn to play the organ?" he asked.

"No. Oh, no! I mean to sing. Listen, please," she pleaded as she saw the
bewildered look on his face. "You know I have always liked to sing. I
have told you that many people have said my voice is good. So I'd like
to go to Philadelphia and take lessons from a good teacher. May I? I can
use the money I have in the bank, that my mother left me. I have about a
thousand dollars. It won't take all of that for a few years' lessons.
Daddy, if you'll only say I may go!" Her voice wavered suspiciously at
the end.

Jacob Metz looked at his daughter, then at the little low organ in the
other room. Another Phoebe had loved to sit at that instrument and
sing--perhaps he was too easy with the girl--but if she wanted to go
away and take lessons----

Before he could answer the plea Maria Metz found her voice and spoke
authoritatively:

"Jacob Metz, goodness knows you're sometimes dumb enough to do foolish
things, but you surely ain't goin' to leave Phoebe go off to learn
singing! Throwing away money like that! And what good is to come of it,
I'd like to know. Who put that dumb notion in her head, it just now
vonders me! If she must go away somewheres to school, like all the young
ones think they must nowadays, why not leave her go to Millersville or
to Elizabethtown or to Lancaster to learn dressmakin'? But to
Philadelphy--why, that's a big city! Anyhow, I can't see the use of all
this flyin' around to school. We didn't get it when we was young, and we
growed up, too. We was lucky if we got to the country school regular,
and we got through the world so far!"

"But Maria," her brother spoke gently, "you know things have changed
since we went to school. The world don't stay the same."

"But to learn music!" she placed a scornful accent on the last word.
"What good will that do? And can't any one in Greenwald or Lancaster,
even, learn her to sing? Anyhow, she don't need no lessons, she hollers
too loud already. If she takes lessons yet what'll she do?"

"Oh, Aunt Maria," Phoebe said impatiently, "you don't understand! If my
voice is worth training it is worth having a good teacher. A city like
Philadelphia is the plac