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Updated: June 1, 2025
Or if you do, that you would rather gratify your desire to study music than marry me which is it?" "Ach, Phares, don't make it hard for me! I said I don't want to get married now. All my life I have lived on a farm and have thought that I should be wonderfully happy if I could get away from it for a while and know what it is to live in a big city.
As the preacher approached she looked around quickly but did not move from her caressing attitude by the tree. "Good-morning, Phares. I'm glad you came. I was wishing for some one to share the old quarry with me this morning." "Aunt Maria told me you were here she is impatient for her pennyroyal."
Only eighteen too young to think of marriage. He could wait a while longer before he told her of his love and his desire to marry her. "I will, Phœbe," he promised. "I'll be your friend, always." "I thought so," she breathed deeply in relief. "I knew you wouldn't fail me. Look at that field, Phares oh, this is a perfect day! There should be a superlative form of perfect for a day like this!
I wanted to offer her more than slavery on a farm, I wanted to have something more than the few hundreds I scraped together. I took the five hundred dollars we skimped for and bought stock of Caleb Warner you heard that he died?" "Phares told me." "I guess the five hundred dollars is gone with him!
You know many poor people plant tobacco for that reason, and that is why I plant it." "Davie," the mother said, "Davie!" "I know," he said bitterly. "I'm a beast when my temper gets beyond control, but Phares can be so confounded irritating, he rubs salt in your cuts every time." "Just for healing," the mother said gently.
He was born into the World by the over-shadowing of God the Holy Ghost, who is none other than the Word himself, and produced without sexual union by a virgin of the seed of Jacob, Judah, Phares, Jesse, and David, his birth being announced by an angel, who told the Virgin to call his name Jesus, for he should save his people from their sins.
Phares records the case of a boy of nine who, while playing in the saw-gate of a cotton-press, was struck by the lever in revolution, the blow fracturing both bones of the leg about the middle.
Sometimes David tells me he is anxious to supply me with the beet juice, cream and flour whenever I'm ready to begin the prima donna act. I can hear his laugh when I read the letter. Sometimes he's serious and talks about the crops of their farm and tells me the community news like an old grandmother. Phares Eby writes me an occasional letter, a stilted little note that sounds just like Phares.
That man don't know what he's saying, but that's the way these auctioneers do; you can't believe half they say at a sale half the time." Phœbe looked up at Phares; both smiled, but the loquacious auctioneer, not knowing the comments he was causing, went on serenely: "Yes, sir, this is a real old piece of furniture, a real antique.
You're so handy with them, you can do most anything, I guess." Spurred by her appreciation of his ability he took the brush and began to brush the tangled hair as she sat on the porch at his feet. "Gee," he exclaimed as the hair sprang into curls when the brush left it, "your hair's just like gold!" "And it's curly," she added proudly. "Sure is. Wouldn't Phares look if he saw it!
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