heckers, standing down in the road outside, had
cut the "ta-ra-dum" as flippant and irrelevant--a delicacy which, in
her trepidation, Pert failed to remark. But, jumping up, she lighted
her lamp, and cautiously exposed it at the window for a moment. Then,
thanking fortune that she chanced to be dressed, she slipped a warm
wrap over her shoulders, and stole down the stairs, out into the night.

Checkers folded her in his arms, and kissed her gently. "My darling,"
he murmured, "you haven't let them turn you against me, have you?"

"Why, Checkers dear," she answered looking into his eyes, "the whole
world could n't turn me against you--I love you." Checkers kissed her
again.

In the bright starlight they sat together, once more on the little
rustic bench under the tree, listening with ready sympathy, as each
related to each the trials of the day.

"No, little sweetheart," said Checkers finally, "there is no possible
way for me to stay in Clarksville. The old man is practically right, I
am a pauper, but I won't be long. Pert, I can hustle, when I want to;
I 've got enough money to take me to Chicago, and keep me till I can
get a job. When I get to work I 'll salt every cent, and with any kind
of luck, I 'll come back and get you within a year. A year is not such
a very long while." And with a show of genuine enthusiasm, Checkers
ended by talking the downcast girl into a happy confidence in himself
and the future.

"And now, Pert," he said, solicitously, "it's too cold for you to stay
out here longer; come, we must be brave, and say good-bye."

"O, Checkers," she exclaimed, with a choking sob, suddenly throwing her
arms around his neck, "I can't bear to let you go; I shall be
miserable, miserable without you."

Tenderly Checkers soothed and reasoned with her. Once more their plans
were gone over. Checkers was to leave in the morning for Chicago. He
was to write to her as often as possible, addressing the letters to
Sadie, whom Pert knew she could depend upon. Checkers was to bend
every effort towards getting a position and saving money; and Pert was
to be brave, and wait--the common lot of women.

With his arm around her, lovingly, he led her slowly to the house.
Again and again they said good-bye; but there is something in the word
which makes us linger.

"Some little keepsake, sweetheart," he whispered--"this ribbon, or your
handkerchief."

"No; wait here a minute," she answered. Carefully enterin