Patchwork Part 45

"Yes. I can't wait to get up the hill. I must go now. I'll be down later, Phbe," he added.

"All right," she said quietly.

"Ach, Phbe," Aunt Maria exclaimed after he left, "did you hear me? I almost give it away that his mom can see. Abody can be awful dumb still!

But won't he be glad when he knows that she ain't blind! She can see him again. Ach, Phbe, it's lots of nice people in the world, for all. It makes abody feel good to know them two are havin' a happy time."

"I'm so glad for both I could sing."

"Go on," said the woman; "I'm glad too, and I believe I could help you to holler."

As David climbed the hill by the woodland he thought musingly, "Strikes me Phbe didn't seem extra glad to see me. Perhaps she was just surprised, perhaps my being crippled changed her. Oh, Phbe, I want you more than ever! I wonder--is it some nerve to ask you to marry a cripple?"

However, all disquieting thoughts were forgotten as he reached the summit of the hill and saw his boyhood home.

He whistled his old greeting whistle. At the sound of it Mother Bab ran to the door.

"It's David come home!" she cried, her renewed eyes turned to the road, her hands outstretched.

"I'm back, mommie!" he called before his running feet could take him to her. But as he held her again to his heart there were no words adequate for the greeting. Their joy was great enough to be inarticulate for a while.

"But, Davie," the mother said after a long silence, "you come running!

You have no crutches!"

"Why, mommie!" There was questioning wonder in his voice. "How do you know? You couldn't see! You are blind!"

"Oh, Davie, not any more! I can see!"

"You can see?" He put a hand at each side of the white-capped head and looked into her eyes. They were not the dull, half-staring eyes of blindness but eyes lighted by loving recognition.

Again words failed him as he swept her into his arms. But he could not long be silent. "Tell me," he cried. "I must know! What miracle--who--how--who did it? When?"

"Oh, Davie, you're not changed a bit! Same old question box! But I'll tell you all about it."

Throughout the story Mother Bab told ran the name of Phbe. "Phbe planned it all, Phbe made the arrangements with the doctor, Phbe took me down to Philadelphia, Phbe was there when I found I could see"--it was Phbe, Phbe, till the man felt his heart singing the name.

"Isn't she going on with her music lessons?" he asked. "I was afraid she'd be in the city when I got back."

"She's given them up. It ain't like her to begin a thing and get tired of it so soon. All at once after we came back from Philadelphia she said she had enough of music, she was tired of it, and was going to stay at home and be useful. I'm glad she's not going off again, for it gets lonesome without her. You stopped to see her on the way up?"

"Yes, just a minute. I'm going down again later. She hardly said two words to me."

"You took her by surprise, I guess. Give her a chance and she'll ask you a hundred questions."

But when he paid the promised visit to Phbe he was again disappointed by her lack of the old comradely friendliness. She shared his joy at Mother Bab's restored sight but when he began to thank her for her part in it she disclaimed all credit and asked questions to lead him from the subject of the operation. The girl seemed interested in all he said yet there was a restraint in her manner. For the first time in his life David was baffled by her att.i.tude. As he climbed the hill again he thought, "Now, what's the matter with Phbe? Was she or wasn't she glad to see me? I couldn't tell her I love her when she acts like that! And I'm a cripple, and she's beautiful---- Oh, my mind's in a muddle! But one thing's clear--I want Phbe Metz for my wife."

CHAPTER x.x.xVII

"A LOVE THAT LIFE COULD NEVER TIRE"

THE next morning Phares Eby called David, "Wait, I want to see you.

I--David," the preacher began gravely, "perhaps I shouldn't tell you, but I really think I ought. Do you know all Phbe did for your mother while you were gone?"

"Why, yes. Mother told me. Phbe was lovely to her. She's been great!

Writing her letters and doing ever so many kind things for her."

"I know--but--I guess you don't know all she did. That story about a great doctor operating for charity didn't quite please me. I thought as long as it was in the family I'd pay him for what he did. So I wrote to him and his secretary wrote back that the bill had been paid by a check signed by Phbe Metz--the bill had been five hundred dollars. I guess that explains her giving up the music lessons. What a girl she is to make such a sacrifice! She don't know that I know, but I felt I ought to tell you."

"Five hundred dollars! Phbe did that for us--she paid it? Oh, Phares, I'm glad you told me! I'm going to find her right away and thank her!

You're a brick for telling me!"

The preacher smiled as David turned and ran down the hill, but preachers are only human--he felt a pang of pain as he went back to his work in the field while David went to find Phbe.

David forgot for the time that he was crippled as he ran limping over the road. Dressed in his working clothes, his head bare to the October sunlight, he hurried to the gray farmhouse.

"Phbe here?" he asked Aunt Maria.

"What's wrong? Anything the matter at your house?" she asked.

"No. Nothing's wrong. Where's Phbe?"

"Ach, over at the quarry again for weeds or something like she brings home all the time."

"All right." He turned to the gate. "I'll find her."

He half ran up the sheltered road to the old stone quarry.

"Phbe," he cried when he caught sight of her as she stooped to gather goldenrod that fringed the woods.

"Why, David, what's the matter?" she asked as she stood erect and faced him.

"You angel!" he cried, taking her hands in his and spilling the goldenrod over the ground. "You angel!" he said again, and the full grat.i.tude of his heart shone from his eyes. "You bought Mother Bab's sight! You gave up the music lessons that she might see!"

"How d'you know?" she challenged.

"Oh, I know!" He told her briefly. "That's all true, isn't it?"

"Yes," she admitted. "I can't lie out of it now, I guess. Though I've lied like a trooper about it already. But you needn't get excited about it. Mother Bab's earned more than that from me!"

"Oh, Phbe!" The man could hardly refrain from taking her in his arms.

"You're an angel! To sacrifice all that for us--it's the most unselfish thing I've ever heard of! You gave her sight so she could see me. I came right down to bless you and to thank you."

Other words sought utterance but he fought them back. Phbe must have read his heart, for she looked up suddenly and asked, "And you came all the way down here just to say thank you! There's nothing else----"

Then, half-ashamed and startled at her forwardness, her gaze dropped.