rought there as I stood
before her in a dress she reverenced and told her I wore it in a spirit
of fun. I'll never get over being sorry for hurting her like that. But
Mother Bab rallies quickly from every hurt. She soon smiled and said she
understood. David came to my aid. He assured his mother that they knew I
could take care of myself and would not do anything really wrong. I
couldn't thank him for his kindness. I felt suddenly all weepy and
tearful. But David began to talk on in his old friendly way and tell
about the home news and about the Big Doctor he had taken Mother Bab to
see in Philadelphia and how he hoped she would soon be able to see
perfectly again. While he talked Mother Bab and I had a chance to
recover a bit. I noted a quick shadow pass over her face as he spoke
about her eyes--was she less hopeful about them than he was? Had the Big
Doctor told her something David did not hear? But no! I dismissed the
thought--Mother Bab could not go blind! She would never be asked to
suffer that! I soon forgot my troublesome thoughts as she hastened to
say that perhaps her eyes would improve more quickly than the doctor
promised. Then she changed the subject--"Now, Phoebe, I hope I didn't
hurt you about the dress. I guess I looked at you as if I wanted to eat
you. I love you and wouldn't hurt you for anything."

"Mother Bab!" I gave her a real hug like I used to do when I ran
barefooted up the hill with some childish perplexity and she helped me.
"You're an angel! Mother Bab, David, having a good time won't hurt me.
Our views up home are too narrow. It's all right to expect older people
to do nothing more exciting than go to Greenwald to the store, to church
every Sunday, to an occasional quilting or carpet-rag party, and to
Lancaster to shop several times a year, but the younger generation needs
other things."

"I guess you mean it can't be Lent all the time for you," she suggested
with a smile.

"I just knew you'd understand."

Just then Royal began to play and the music floated in to us. It was
Traumerei. Mother Bab's tired face relaxed as she leaned back to listen
to the piercingly sweet melody. David looked at me--I knew he was asking
whether the player was Royal Lee.

"Oh, Davie," Mother Bab said innocently as the music ended, "if only you
could play like that!"

"If I could," he said half bitterly, "but all I can do is farm. Are you
coming home this spring?" he asked me, as if to forget the violin and