school.

The first time that she quarrelled with Martin, she cried for an
entire day, with the old childish feeling that somehow her crying
mattered, somehow her abandonment to grief would help to
straighten affairs. The cause of the quarrel was a trifle; her
father had sent her a Christmas check, and she immediately sent to
a San Francisco shop for a clock that had taken her fancy months
before.

Martin, who chanced to be pressed for money, although she did not
know it, was thunderstruck upon discovering that she had actually
disposed of fifty dollars so lightly. For several days a shadow
hung over their intercourse, and when the clock came, as large as
a banjo, gilded and quaint, he broke her heart afresh by
pretending not to admire it.

But on Christmas Eve he was delayed at the mine, and Cherry,
smitten suddenly with the bitterness of having their first
Christmas spoiled in this way, sat up for him, huddled in her silk
wrapper by the air-tight stove. She was awakened by feeling
herself lowered tenderly into bed, and raised warm arms to clasp
his neck, and they kissed each other. The little house was warm
and comfortable, they had a turkey to roast on the morrow, and
ranged on the table were the home boxes, and a stack of unopened
envelopes waiting for Christmas morning.

The next day they laughed at the clock together, and after that
peace reigned for several weeks. But it was inevitable that
another quarrel should come and then another; Cherry was young and