"Um-ah," he said, in imitation of a little girl of long ago.
"Little Dutchie," she answered. "But you can't provoke me to-day. I'm too happy to be peevish. Come, kneel down, you'll never find arbutus when you stand up."
"I'm down," he said as he knelt beside her. "I'd go on my knees to find arbutus any day."
"So would I—— Oh, look at this—and this! They are perfect." She fairly trembled with joy as she uncovered the waxlike flowers of dainty pink and white. "I could bury my nose in them forever."
"They are perfect," agreed the man. "Fancy living where you never saw any arbutus or had the joy of picking them."
"I don't want to fancy that, it's too delicious being where they do grow. Won't Mother Bab love them?"
"Yes. She'll keep them for days in water. That flower you gave her in Philadelphia lasted four days."
"These are better," Phœbe said quickly, anxious to shut out all thoughts of the city. Now that she was in the woods again she knew how hungry she had been for them. "I am going to pick a bunch of big ones for Mother Bab."
"She would like the small ones every whit as much," the man declared.
"Perhaps better," she mused. "She would say they are just as sweet and pretty. David, I don't know what I should have done without Mother Bab! My life was different, somehow, after she allowed me to adopt her."