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“I know now what you meant,” she cried, gayly, raising herself and looking into his face; “you were trying to scare me; trying to make me show how much I–cared for you–first!” There was a soft smile on her lips and a tender light in her eyes. “But I don’t mind it.”

“I guess I didn’t know myself what I meant,” he answered, with a grave smile.

When Mrs. Welsh came in, they were sitting on the sofa, talking in low voices of their future. He was grave and subdued, while she was radiant with love and hope. The future had no terrors for her, but the boy unconsciously felt the gravity of life somehow deepened by the revelation of her love.

“Why, Maud!” Mrs. Welsh exclaimed, “what are you doing?”

“Oh, mother, I’m so happy–just as happy as a bird!” she cried, rushing into her mother’s arms.

“Why, why!–what is it? You’re crying, dear!”

“No, I’m not; I’m laughing–see!”

Mrs. Welsh turned her dim eyes on the girl, who shook the tears from her lashes with the action of a bird shaking water from its wings. She seemed to shake off her trouble at the same moment.

Mrs. Welsh understood perfectly. “I’m very glad, too, dearie,” she said, simply, looking at the young man with motherly love irradiating her worn face. Albert went to her, and she kissed him, while the happy girl put her arms about them both in an ecstatic hug.

“Now you’ve got a son, mother.”

“But I’ve lost a daughter–my first-born.”

“Oh, wait till you hear our plans! He’s going to settle down here–aren’t you, Albert?”

Then she went away and left the young people alone. They had a sweet, intimate talk of an hour, full of plans and hopes and confidences, and then he kissed his radiant love good-night, and, going into his own room, sat down by the stove and there pondered on the change that had come into his life.

Already he sighed with the stress of care, the press of thought, which came upon him. The longing uneasiness of the boy had given place to another unrest–the unrest of the man who must face the world in earnest now, planning for food and shelter. To go back to school was out of the question. To expect help from his father, overworked and burdened with debt, was impossible. He must go to work, and go to work to aid her. A living must be wrung from this town. All the home and all the property Mrs. Welsh had were here, and wherever Maud went the mother must follow.

He was in the midst of his mental turmoil when Hartley came in, humming the Mulligan Guards.

“In the dark, hey?”

“Completely in the dark.”

“Well, light up, light up!”

“I’m trying to.”

“What the deuce do you mean by that tone? What’s been going on here since my absence?”

Albert did not reply, and Hartley shuffled about after a match, lighted the lamp, threw his coat and hat in the corner, and then said:

“Well, I’ve got everything straightened up. Been freezing out old Daggett; the old skeesix has been promisin’ f’r a week, and I just said, ‘Old man, I’ll camp right down with you here till you fork over,’ and he did. By-the-way, everybody I talked with to-day about leaving said, ‘What’s Lohr going to do with that girl?’ I told ’em I didn’t know; do you? It seems you’ve been thicker’n I supposed.”

“I’m going to marry her,” said Albert, calmly, but his voice sounded strained and hoarse.

“What’s that?” yelled Hartley.

“Sh! don’t raise the neighbors. I’m going to marry her.”

“Well, by jinks! When? Say, looky here! Well, I swanny!” exclaimed Hartley, helplessly. “When?”

“Right away; some time this summer–June, maybe.”

Hartley thrust his hands into his trousers pockets, stretched out his legs, and stared at his friend in vast amaze.

“You’re givin’ me guff!”

“I’m in dead earnest.”

“I thought you was going through college all so fast?”

“Well, I’ve made up my mind it isn’t any use to try,” replied Albert, listlessly.