THE FLEDGLING'S FLIGHT
PHOEBE found the packing of her trunk a task not altogether without pain.
As she gathered her few treasures from her room a feeling of desolation
seemed to pervade the place. Going away from home for the first long
stay, however bright the new place of sojourn, brings to most hearts an
undercurrent of sadness.
She smiled a bit wistfully at her few treasures--her books, an old
picture of her mother, the little Testament Aunt Maria gave her to read,
the few trinkets her school friends had given her from time to time, a
little kodak picture of Mother Bab and David in the flower garden.
At last the dreary task was done, the trunk strapped, and she was ready
for the journey. It was a perfect September day when she left the gray
farmhouse, drove in the country road and stood with her father, Aunt
Maria, Mother Bab, David and Phares at the railroad station in Greenwald
and waited for the noon train to Philadelphia.
Jacob Metz and the preacher made brave, though visible, efforts to be
cheerful; Maria Metz made no effort to be anything except very greatly
worried and anxious; but Mother Bab and David were determined that the
girl's departure was to be nothing less than pleasant.
"Now be sure, Phoebe," said Aunt Maria for the tenth time, "to ask the
conductor at Reading if that train is for Phildelphy before you get on,
and at Phildelphy you wait till Miss Lee fetches you."
"Yes, Aunt Maria, I'll be careful."
"And don't lose your trunk check--David, did you give it to her for
sure?"
"Yes. She'll hold on to it, don't you worry."
"Phoebe will be all right," said Mother Bab.
"And," said David teasingly, "be sure to let me know when you need that
beet juice and cream and flour."
"Davie! Now for that I won't write to you!"
"Yes you will!" His eyes looked so long into hers that she said
confusedly, "Ach, I'll write. Mind that you take good care of Mother Bab
and stop in sometimes to see how Aunt Maria and daddy are getting on
without me."
"Ach, we'll be all right," said Aunt Maria. "Just you take care of
yourself so far away from home. And if you get homesick you come right
home. Anyway, you come home soon to see us; and be sure to write every
week still."
"Yes, yes!"
A shrill whistle announced the approach of the train. There were hurried
kisses and good-byes, a handshake for the preacher and, last of all, a
handshake for David. He held her hand so long that she cried out,
"David, you'll make me miss the train!"
"No--good-bye."
"Good-bye, David." Then she tugged at her hand and in a moment was
hurrying to the train.
There were few passengers that day, so the train made a short stop.
Phoebe smiled as the train started, leaned forward and waved till the
familiar group was lost to her view, then she settled herself with a
brave little smile and looked at the well-known fields and meadows she
was passing. The trees on Cemetery Hill were silhouetted against the
blue sky just as she had seen them many times in her walks about the
country.
But soon the old landmarks disappeared and unknown fields lay about her.
Crude rail fences divided acres of rustling corn from orchards whose
trees were laden with red apples or downy peaches. Occasionally flocks
of startled birds rose from fields freshly plowed for the fall sowing of
wheat. Huge red barns and spacious open tobacco sheds, hung with drying
tobacco, gave evidence of the prosperity of the farmers of that section.
Little schoolhouses were dotted here and there along the road. Flowers
bloomed by the wayside and in them Phoebe was especially interested.
Goldenrod in such great profusion that it seemed the very sunshine of
the skies was imprisoned in flower form, stag-horn sumac with its
grape-like clusters of red adding brilliancy to the landscape--everywhere
was manifest the dawn of autumnal glory, the splendor that foreruns decay,
the beauty that is but the first step in nature's transition from blossom
and harvest to mystery and sleep.
Every two or three miles the train stopped at little stations and then
Phoebe leaned from her window to see the beautiful stretches of country.
At one flag station the train was signalled and came to a stop. Just
outside Phoebe's window stood a tall farmer. He rubbed his fingers
through his hair and stared curiously at the train.
"Step lively," shouted the trainman.
But the farmer shook his head. "Ach, I don't want on your train! I
expected some folks from Lititz and thought they'd be on this here
train. Didn't none get on----"
But the angry trainman had heard enough. He pulled the cord and the
train started, leaving the old man alone, his eyes scanning the moving
cars.
Phoebe laughed. "We Pennsylvania Dutch do funny things! I wonder if I'll
seem strange and foolish to the people I shall meet in the great city."
At Reading she obeyed Aunt Maria's injunction and boarded the proper
train. The ride along the winding Schuylkill was thoroughly enjoyed by
the country girl, but the picture changed when the country was left
behind, suburban Philadelphia passed, and the train entered the crowded
heart of the city. They passed close to dark houses grimy with the
accumulated smoke of many passing locomotives. Great factories loomed
before the train, factories where girls looked up for a moment at the
whirring cars and turned again to the grinding life of loom or machine.
The sight disheartened Phoebe. Was life in the city like that for some
girls? How dreadful to be shut up in a factory while outdoors the whole
panorama of the seasons moved on! She would miss the fields and woods
but she would make the sacrifice gladly if she might only see life, meet
people and learn to sing. The thoughts awakened by the sight of the
shut-in girls were not happy ones. She welcomed the call, "Reading
Terminal, Philadelphia."
As she followed the stream of fellow passengers and walked through the
dim train shed to the exit her heart beat more quickly--she was really
in Philadelphia! But the noise, the stream of people rushing from trains
past other people rushing to trains, bewildered her. She saw the sea of
faces beyond the iron gates and experienced for the first time the
loneliness that comes to a traveler who enters a thronged depot and sees
a host of people but enters unwelcomed and ungreeted.
However, the loneliness was momentary. The next minute she caught sight
of Miss Lee. A wave of relief and happiness swept over her--she was in
Philadelphia, the land of her heart's desire!