"They come true sometimes," said Phoebe.

"Ach, yes, my granny used to plant her garden by the signs in the
almanac. Cabbage, now, must be planted in the up-sign. But mebbe you're
hungry after your drive? I'll get some cake."

"We had lunch----"

"Ach, if your man's like mine he can eat cake any time." She opened a
door that led to the cellar and soon returned with a plate piled high
with cake. "Now eat," she invited. "But, ach, I just thought of it--you
said you come from Greenwald--then I guess you know about Caleb Warner
dying, killing himself, or something."

"Caleb Warner dying!" David echoed. He half started from his chair, then
sank with a visible effort at self-control.

"Yes. I guess you know him. My mister was in to dinner a while ago and
he said it went over the 'phone at Risser's and Jacob Risser told him
that Caleb Warner of Greenwald was dead. It was from gas or something
funny like that. It's the Warner that sold that oil stock and gold
stock. You know him?"

David nodded, his lips dry.

"Well, I guess now a lot of people will lose money. There's a lady lives
near here that gave him almost all her money for some of his stock. For
a while she got big interest from it, but then it stopped and now she
ain't got hardly enough money to live. And I guess a lot will lose
money. My mister had no time for that stock. But if the man's dead now
we should let him rest, I guess."

"Yes----" David braced himself. "The rain is over. Phoebe, we must go."

He smiled to the little woman as he gripped her hand. "You have been
very kind to us and we appreciate it."

"Yes, indeed," echoed Phoebe. "I hope we have not kept you from your
work."

"Ach, I can work enough to-day yet. I like company and I don't have much
of it week-days. Um, ain't it good smelly after the rain?" She sniffed,
smiling, as she followed Phoebe and David down the path to the barnyard.

"Good-bye," she called as they drove off. "Safe home."

"Thank you. Good-bye," Phoebe called over the side of the carriage.
Then, as they entered again upon the country road, she turned to her
place beside David.

She looked up at him. All the light and joy had faded from his face; he
stared straight head, though he must have felt her eyes' intent gaze
upon him.

"David," she said softly, "what is wrong?"

"Nothing," he lied.

"Seems you look different," she persisted. "Is it anything about Caleb
Warner's death?"

"I'm not much of a stoic, Phoebe.