me and live with us,
Waity dear? The days crawl so slowly!" At which Ivory would laugh, push
him away and draw Waitstill nearer to his own side, saying: "If you are
in a hurry, you young cormorant, what do you think of me?" And Waitstill
would look from one to the other and blush at the heaven of love that
surrounded her on every side.

"I believe you are longing to begin on my cooking, you two big greedy
boys!" she said teasingly. "What shall we have for New Year's dinner,
Rod? Do you like a turkey, roasted brown and crispy, with giblet gravy
and cranberry jelly? Do you fancy an apple dumpling afterwards,--an
apple dumpling with potato crust,--or will you have a suet pudding with
foamy sauce?"

"Stop, Waitstill!" cried Ivory. "Don't put hope into us until you are
ready to satisfy it; we can't bear it!"

"And I have a box of goodies from my own garden safely stowed away in
Uncle Bart's shop," Waitstill went on mischievously. "They were to be
sold in Portland, but I think they'll have to be my wedding-present
to my husband, though a very strange one, indeed! There are peaches
floating in sweet syrup; there are tumblers of quince jelly; there are
jars of tomato and citron preserves, and for supper you shall eat them
with biscuits as light as feathers and white as snowdrifts."

"We can never wait two more days, Rod; let us kidnap her! Let us take
the old bob-sled and run over to New Hampshire where one can be married
the minute one feels like it. We could do it between sunrise and
moonrise and be at home for a late supper. Would she be too tired to
bake the biscuits for us, do you think? What do you say, Rod, will
you be best man?" And there would be youthful, unaccustomed laughter
floating out from the kitchen or living-room, bringing a smile of
content to Lois Boynton's face as she lay propped up in bed with her
open Bible beside her. "He binds up the broken-hearted," she whispered
to herself. "He gives unto them a garland for ashes; the oil of joy for
mourning; the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness."

The quiet wedding was over. There had been neither feasting, nor finery,
nor presents, nor bridal journey; only a home-coming that meant deep and
sacred a joy, as fervent gratitude as any four hearts ever contained
in all the world. But the laughter ceased, though the happiness flowed
silently underneath, almost forgotten in the sudden sorrow that overcame
them, for it fell out that Lois Boynton had only w