Patchwork Part 15

The material was soft silky batiste of the quality Phbe liked. The style, also, was of her choosing. She felt a glow of satisfaction as she looked at the dress so simply, yet fas.h.i.+onably, made.

"For once in my life I have a dress I like," she thought.

After supper, just as she was ready to dress for the great event, Phares Eby came to the gray farmhouse.

The years had changed the solemn, serious boy into a more solemn, serious man. Tall and broad-shouldered, he was every inch a man in appearance. He was, moreover, a man highly respected in the community, a successful farmer and also a preacher in the Church of the Brethren. The latter honor had been conferred upon him a year before Phbe's graduation and had seemed to increase his gravity and endow him with true bishopric dignity. He dressed after the manner of the majority of men who are affiliated with the Church of the Brethren in that district.

His chin was covered with a thick, black beard, his dark hair was parted in the middle and combed behind his ears. He looked ten years older than he was and gave an impression of reserved strength, indomitable will and rigidity of purpose in furthering what he deemed a good cause.

Phbe felt a slight intimidation in his presence as she noted how serious he had grown, how mature he seemed. He appeared to desire the same friends.h.i.+p with her and tried to be comradely as of old, but there remained a feeling of restraint between them.

"h.e.l.lo, Phares," she greeted him as cordially as possible on her Commencement night.

"Good-evening," he returned. "Are you ready for the great event?"

"Yes, if I don't have heart failure before I get in to town. If only I had been fourth or fifth in the cla.s.s marks instead of second, then I might have escaped to-night with just a solo. As it is, I must deliver the Salutatory oration."

"Phbe, you want to get off too easily! But I cannot stay more than a minute, for I know you'll want to get ready. I just stopped to give you a little gift for your graduation, a copy of Longfellow's poems."

"Oh, thanks, Phares. I like his poems."

"I thought you did. But I must go now," he said stiffly. "I'll see you to-night at Commencement. I hope you'll get through the oration all right."

"Thanks. I hope so."

When he was gone she made a wry face. "Whew," she whistled. "I'm sure Phares is a fine young man but he's too solemncoly. He gives me the woolies! If he's like that all the time I'm glad I don't have to live in the same house. Wonder if he really knows how to be jolly. But, shame on you, Phbe Metz, talking so about your old friend! Perhaps for that I'll forget my oration to-night." With a gay laugh she ran away to dress for the most important occasion of her life.

The white dress was vastly becoming. Its soft folds fell gracefully about her slender young figure. Her hair was brushed back, gathered into a bow at the top of her head, and braided into one thick braid which ended in a curl. There were no loving fingers of mother or sister to arrange the folds of her gown, no fond eyes to appraise her with looks of approval, but if she felt the omission she gave no evidence of it.

She seemed especially gay as she dressed alone in her room. When she had finished she surveyed herself in the gla.s.s.

"Um, Phbe Metz, you don't look half bad! Now go and do as well as you look. If Aunt Maria heard me she'd be shocked, but what's the use pretending to be so stupid or innocent as not to appreciate your own good points. Any person with good sight and ordinary sense can tell whether their appearance is pleasing or otherwise. I like this dress----"

"Phbe," Aunt Maria's voice came up the stairs.

"Yes?"

"Why, David's down. Are you done dressing?"

"I'll be down in a minute."

David Eby, too, was a man grown, but a man so different! Like his cousin, Phares, he was tall. He had the same dark hair and eyes but his eyes were glowing, and his hair was cut close and his chin kept smooth-shaven.

Between him and Phbe there existed the old comrades.h.i.+p, free of restraint or embarra.s.sment. He ran to meet her as her steps sounded on the stairs.

But she came down sedately, her hand sliding along the colonial hand-rail, a calm dignity about her, her lovely head erect.

"Good-evening," she said in quiet tones.

"Whew!" he whistled. "Sweet girl graduate is too mild a phrase! Come, unbend, Phbe. You don't expect me to call you Miss Metz or to kiss your hand--ah, shall I?"

"Davie"--in a twinkling the a.s.sumed dignity deserted her, she was all girl again, animated and adorable--"Davie, you're hopeless! Here I pose before the mirror to find the most impressive way to hold my head and be sufficiently dignified for the occasion, and you come bursting into the hall like a tomboy, whistling and saying funny things."

"I'm awfully sorry. But you took my breath away. I haven't gotten it back yet"--he breathed deeply.

"David, will you ever grow up?"

"I'll have to now. I see you've gone and done it."

"Ach no," she lapsed into the childhood expression. "I'm not grown up.

But how do I look? You won't tell me so I have to ask you."

"You look like a Madonna," he said seriously.

"Oh," she said impatiently, "that sounded like Phares."

"Gracious, then I'll change it! You look like an angel and good enough to eat. But honestly, Phbe, that dress is dandy! You look mighty nice."

"Glad you think so. Shall I tell you a secret, David? I'm scared pink about to-night."

"You scared?" He whistled again.

"Don't be so smart," she said with a frown. "Were you scared on your Commencement night?"

"Um-uh. At first I was. But you'll get over it in a few minutes. The lights and the glory of the occasion dim the scary feeling when you sit up there in the seats of honor. You should be glad your oration is first."

"I am. Mary Warner is welcome to her Valedictory and the long wait to deliver it."

Phbe stiffened a bit at the thought of the other girl. Since the days when the two girls attended the rural school on the hill and Mary Warner was the possessor of curls while Phbe wore the despised braids the other girl seemed to have everything for which Phbe longed.

"Ah, don't you care about the honor," said David. "Honors don't always tell who knows the most. Why, look at me; I was fifth in my cla.s.s and I know as much any day as the little runt who was first."

"Conceit!" laughed Phbe. "But I guess you do know more than he does.

Bet he never saw an orioles' nest or found a wild pink moccasin. You're a wonder at such things, David."

"Um," came the sober answer, but there was a merry twinkle in his eyes, "I'm a wonder all right! Too bad only you and Mother Bab know it. But if I don't soon go you won't get to town in time to get the pink roses arranged just so for the grand march. The girls in our cla.s.s primped about twenty minutes, patting their hair and fixing their ribbons and fussing with their flowers."

"David, you're horrid!"

"I know. But I brought you something more to primp with." He handed her a small flat box.

"For me?"

"From Mother Bab," he said.

"Oh, David, that's a beauty!" she cried as she held up a scarf of pale blue crepe de chine. "I'll wear it to-night. Tell Mother Bab I thank her over and over. But I'll see her to-night and tell her myself; she'll be in at Commencement."

"She can't come, Phbe. She's sorry, but she has one of her dreadful headaches and you know what that means, how sick she really is."

"Oh, Davie, Mother Bab not coming to my Commencement--why, I'm so disappointed, I want her there"--the tears were near the surface.