stove with polished brass spires.

Calvin sat on the sofa with an arm about Hannah's waist, while she
twisted round her finger the ring he had given her, a ring of warranted
gold clasping a large red stone. Her throat was circled by a silver
chain supporting a mounted polished Scotch pebble, his gift as well.
Their position was conventional; Calvin's arm was cramped from its
unusual position, he had to brace his feet to keep firm on the slippery
plush, but he was dazed with delight. His heart throbs were evident in
his wrists and throat, while a tenderness of pity actually wet his
eyes. At times he spoke in a hushed voice, phrases meaningless in word
but charged with inarticulate emotion; Hannah replied more coherently;
but for the most they were silent. She accepted the situation with
evident calm as an inevitable part of life. Drawn against him she
rested her head lightly on his shoulder, her gaze speculative and
undisturbed.

Once he exclaimed: "I don't believe you love me! I don't believe you're
interested in the things for the kitchen or the bedroom suite I saw in
a catalogue at Priest's store!"

"Don't be silly!" she murmured. "Why shouldn't I be when it's my own,
when it's all I'm going to have."

He cried bravely. "It's only the beginning! Wait till you see our
cattle herded over the mountain to the railroad; wait till you see a
spur come up the Sugarloaf and haul away our hardwood. Just you wait----"

There was the clip-clip of a horse outside, and the creaking of wheels.