ways promenade. Except they go to photo-plays, and
dance hall. It is the hard part of war, the waiting part."

Miss Mink agreed with him perfectly as she helped him wait. She had
never spent such a long day in her life. At a quarter past five he rose
to go. A skillful word on her part would have expedited matters, but
Miss Mink was not versed in the social trick of speeding a departing
guest. Fifteen minutes dragged their weary length even after he was on
his feet. Then Miss Mink received a shock from which it took her an even
longer time to recover. Alexis Bowinski, having at last arrived at the
moment of departure, took her hand in his and, bowing awkwardly, raised
it to his lips and kissed it! Then he backed out of the cottage, stalked
into the twilight and was soon lost to sight beyond the hedge.

Miss Mink sank limply on the sofa by the window, and regarded her small
wrinkled hand with stern surprise. It was a hand that had never been
kissed before and it was tingling in the strangest and most
unaccountable manner.

The following week was lived in the afterglow of that eventful Sunday.
She described the soldier's visit in detail to the few customers who
came in. She went early to prayer-meeting in order to tell about it. And
in the telling she subordinated everything to the dramatic climax:

"I never was so took back in my life!" she said. "After setting there
for four mortal hours with nothing to say, just boring each other to
death, for him to get up like that and make a regular play-actor bow,
and kiss my hand! Well, I never _was_ so took back!"

And judging from the number of times Miss Mink told the story, and the
conscious smile with which she concluded it, it was evident that she was
not averse to being "took back."

By the time Sunday arrived she had worked herself up to quite a state of
excitement. Would Bowinski he at church? Would he sit on her side of the
congregation? Would he wait after the service to speak to her? She put
on her best bonnet, which was usually reserved for funerals, and pinned
a bit of thread lace over the shabby collar of her coat.

The moment she entered church all doubts were dispelled. There in her
pew, quite as if he belonged there, sat the tall young Russian. He even
stepped into the aisle for her to pass in, helped her off with her coat,
and found the place for her in the hymn-book. Miss Mink realized with a
glow of satisfaction, that many curious heads were craning in he