as a man of ripe years, he had to confess that the mere idea of
marriage made him feel awfully young and scared. And so he said
nothing and went on hoping.

Joan broke the silence. "Everything will be different when Mother
comes back," she said. "I shall live with her then, and I give you
my word I'll make up for lost time. So who cares? There are three
good hours before I face Grandmother. Let's enjoy ourselves."




IV


Martin couldn't settle down after his solitary dinner that night.
Several times he had jumped out of his father's reading chair and
stood listening at the window. It seemed to him that some one had
called his name. But the only sounds that broke the exquisite
quietude of the night were the distant barking of a dog, the whirl
of an automobile on the road or the pompous crowing of a master of a
barnyard, taken up and answered by others near and far.

Each time the boy had stood at the open window and peered out
eagerly and wistfully, but nothing had moved across the moon-bathed
lawn or disturbed the sleeping flowers. Under the cold light of the
stars the earth appeared to be more than usually peaceful and
drowsy. All was well.

But the boy's blood tingled, and he was filled with an unexplainable