ll breeze that blew up from the valley.

I don't know how long we sat there with arms and breasts and cheeks
close, but I do know that some of the time Sam was praying, and I
prayed, too. That is, I thanked God for Sam in behalf of myself and the
helpless people in the camp below us and the rest of the world, even if
they don't know about him yet. Amen.

Of course, it is easy enough, if you have a little money in your
stocking, to cut any kind of hard knot and go off on a railroad train,
leaving the ravelings behind you. But I believe that sooner or later
people always have to tie up all the strings of all the knots they
ruthlessly cut. Sam made me do it the very next day, after a long talk
out on the front porch under the honeysuckle that was still blowing a
few late flowers.

First he made me tell mother. She said:

"Why, of course, Betty dear, I always expected you to marry Sam, and I
am so glad that you are so like my mother and will be a good farmer's
wife. Did I give you that gardening-book of hers that I found? It might
be a help to you both."

Did she give me that gardening-book which had made all the mischief? I
felt Sam laugh, for I was hanging on to his arm just as I always did
when he took me in to tell mother on myself. I was glad that she
finished the eighth row of the mat and began on the ninth at that exact
moment, so we could go on back to the honeysuckles and the young moon.

Then Sam made me tell daddy. Daddy said:

"Now I suppose I will be allowed to purchase a mule and cow or an
electric reaper for that farm when I think it necessary?" And as he
spoke he looked Sam straight in the face, with belligerency making the
corners of his white mustache stand straight up.

"Make it a big steam-silo, first, Dad Hayes," answered Sam, laughing and
red up to the edges of his hair--and daddy got an arm around us both for
a good hug.

But the letter to Peter was another thing, and I didn't wait for Sam to
tell me to write it. I smudged and snubbed and scratched over it all day
and flung myself weeping into Sam's arms that night with it in my hand.

"Why, I wrote to Peter that night--the night I--took you over, Bettykin.
And here's the answer that came an hour ago by wire. Take your hair out
of my eyes and let me read it to you."

I snuggled two inches lower against Sam, and this is what he read:

My life for your life, yours for mine, and joy to us both.