nice boy!"

He was no less a man, either; he had graduated among the first three
at West Point; he was looking earnestly for the next thing that he
should do in life with his powers and responsibilities; he did not
count his marrying a _separate_ thing; that had grown up alongside
and with the rest; of course he could do nothing without Ruth; that
was just what he had told her; and she,--well Ruth was always a
sensible little thing, and it was just as plain to her as it was to
him. Of course she must help him think and plan; and when the plans
were made, it would take two to carry them out; why, yes, they must
be married. What other way would there be?

That wasn't what she _said_, but that was the quietly natural and
happy way in which it grew to be a recognized thing in her mind,
that pleasant summer after he came straight home to them with his
honors and his lieutenant's commission in the Engineers; and his
hearty, affectionate taking-for-granted; and it was no surprise or
question with her, only a sure and very beautiful "rightness," when
it came openly about.

Dakie Thayne was a man; the beginning of a very noble one; but it is
the noblest men that always keep a something of the boy. If you had
not seen anything more of Dakie Thayne until he should be forty
years old, you would then see something in him which would be
precisely the same that it was at Outledge, seven years ago, with
Leslie Goldthwaite, and among the Holabirds at Westover, in his
first furlough from West Point.

Luclarion came into the Ripwinkley kitchen just as the cakes--the
little pepper-pot one and all--were going triumphantly into the
oven, and Hazel was baring her little round arms to wash the dishes,
while Diana tended the pans.

Mrs. Ripwinkley heard her old friend's voice, and came out.

"That girl ought to be here with you; or somewheres else than where
she is, or is likely to be took," said Luclarion, as she looked
round and sat down, and untied her bonnet-strings.

Miss Grapp hated bonnet-strings; she never endured them a minute
longer than she could help.

"Desire?" asked Mrs. Ripwinkley, easily comprehending.

"Yes; Desire. I tell you she has a hard row to hoe, and she wants
comforting. She wants to know if it is her duty to go to Yourup with
her mother. Now it may be her duty to be _willing_ to go; but it
ain't anybody's else duty to let her. That's what came to me as I
was coming along. I couldn't tell _her_ so, you see,