he verse in the Third Reader we used to have at school:

"'Stay, stay at home, my heart and rest;
Home-keeping hearts are happiest.
For those who wander, they know not where,
Are full of trouble and full of care;
To stay at home is best.'"

"But I have ambitions, Phares. All my eighteen years of life have been
spent on a farm, in the narrow existence of those whose days are passed
within one little circle. I want to see things, I want to meet people, I
want to live, I want to learn to sing--I can't do any of these things
here. Oh, you can't understand my real sincerity in this desire to get
away. It is not that I love my home and my people less than you love
yours. I feel that I must get away!"

"But your voice, Phoebe, like the scarlet tanager's, is right as God
made it. Because we are such old friends it grieves me to see you go. I
was hoping you would change your mind--there is so much vanity and evil
in the city."

"I'll try to keep from it, Phares. I shall merely learn to sing better,
meet a few new people, and be wiser because of the experience."

"It is useless to try to persuade you, I suppose. I hoped you would
reconsider it, that you would learn to care for me as I care."

"Phares, don't. You make me unhappy."

"Misery loves company," he quoted, trying to smile.

"But can't you see that marriage is the thing I am thinking least about
these days? I am too young."

She looked, indeed, like a fair representation of Youth as she stood by
the crude rail fence at the edge of the woods, one arm flung along the
rough top rail, her hair tumbled from the walk through the cornfield,
her eyes still gleaming with the joy of seeing the tanager, yet shadowy
with the startled emotions occasioned by the preacher's wooing.

He looked at her--

"Oh, look! Our tanager is back!" she exclaimed.

"I guess she is too young," he thought as he saw how quickly she turned
from the question of marriage to watch the red bird.

Phoebe's lips parted in pleasure as she saw the tanager again take up
his place on the oak and burst into song. So absorbed were man and maid
that neither heard the rustle of parted corn nor were aware of the
presence of a third person until a voice exclaimed, "Oh, I beg your
pardon. I didn't know you were here."

As they turned David Eby stood before them, his expression a mingling of
surprise and wonder. The flush on Phoebe's face, the awakened look i