ainst the shaggy trunk. The glaring sunshine that fell upon the fields
and hills could not wholly penetrate the protecting canopy of
well-proportioned sycamore leaves; only a few quivering rays fell upon
the girl's upturned face.

As the preacher approached she looked around quickly but did not move
from her caressing attitude by the tree.

"Good-morning, Phares. I'm glad you came. I was wishing for some one to
share the old quarry with me this morning."

"Aunt Maria told me you were here--she is impatient for her pennyroyal."
Now, that the supreme moment had arrived, he hesitated and grasped at
the first straw for conversation.

"Oh, dear," she said childishly, "Aunt Maria expects me to remember ants
and pennyroyal when I come here. Phares, I can't explain it, but this
old quarry has a strange fascination for me. The beauty in its
variegated stone with the sunlight upon it attracts me. Sometimes I am
tempted to climb up the hill and hang over the quarry and look down into
the heart of it."

"Don't ever do that!" cried the preacher.

"I won't," laughed Phoebe. "I don't want to die just yet. But isn't it
the loveliest place! I come here often when the men are not blasting. It
seems almost a desecration to blast these rocks when we think how long
nature took in their making."

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. Phoebe 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