from hard things within to the night. There in the
South-west, where they slept out of doors, she had come to know the
night. Ever since that it had seemed to have something for her,
something from which she could draw. And after they had gone through
those first years and the fight was not for keeping life but for making
a place for it in the world, she had many times stepped from a cramping
little house full of petty questions she did not know how to deal with,
from a hard little routine that threatened their love out to the vast,
still night of that Colorado valley and always something had risen in
herself which gave her power. So many times that had happened that
instinctively she turned to the outside now, leaning her head against
the lowered casing. The oak tree was gently tapping against the
house--that same old sound that had gone all through her girlhood; the
familiar fragrance of a flowering vine on the porch below; the thrill of
the toads off there in the little ravine, a dog's frolicsome barking;
the laughter of some boys and girls who were going by--old things those,
sweeping her back to old things. Down in the next block some boys were
singing that old serenading song, "Good-night, Ladies." Long ago boys
had sung it to her. She stood there listening to it, tears running down
her face.

She was startled by a tap at the door; dashing her hands across her face
she eagerly called, "Come in."

"Deane's here, Ruth," said Ted. "Wants to see you. Shall I tell him to
come in here?"

She nodded, but for an instant Ted stood there looking at her. She was
so strange. She had been crying, and yet she seemed so glad, so excited
about something.

"Oh, Deane," she cried, holding out her two hands to him, laughter and
sobs crowding out together, "_talk_ to me! How's your mother? How's your
Aunt Margaret's rheumatism? What kind of an automobile have you? What
about your practice? What about your dog? Why, Deane," she rushed on,
"I'm just starving for things like that! You know I'm just Ruth, don't
you, Deane?" She laughed a little wildly. "And I've come home. And I
want to know about things. Why I could listen for hours about what
streets are being paved--and who supports old Mrs. Lynch! Don't you see,
Deane?" she laughed through tears. "But first tell me about Edith! How
does she look? How many children has she? Who are her friends? And oh,
Deane--tell me,--does she _ever_ say anything about me?"

They talked for mo