as deceived. The kiss I would have impressed upon her countenance was
not to her displeasing. Rather it was the circumstance of its being
misdirected which caused her to be overcome, not with the hysteria of
indignation but with mirth. Why mirth at such a moment, I know not. But
are not the ways of a maiden past finding out?

Hurrying from my presence to stifle her laughter, she entered the
adjoining room, to come upon her uncle engaged in the, to him, congenial
occupation of oiling a newly purchased firearm of augmented calibre. A
waggish inspiration leaped into her mind. It would appear by her own
admissions that she has oft been given to the practice of practical
joking; but because of the glorious consequences I find it in my heart
to forgive her.

"Uncle," she said, "Doctor Fibble wants to see your new gun!"

With no murderous desires in his heart and actuated only by
gratification and friendliness, he entered. Yet under the circumstances,
how natural, how inevitable, that I should misread his expression and
his gesture, misinterpret his motives. I saw the window near by,
offering a possible avenue of escape. I leaped. You, diary, and you
alone, know what has ensued from that moment until now.

But there is more to tell. She believed my limb was shattered--in fact,
broken. She blamed me not at all; it was herself she blamed. Until she
could bear the separation no longer, she remained away. Then
impetuously, remorsefully, lovingly she came. She loves me--she herself
has told me so--Hildegarde loves me. And stranger still, she has known
for weeks that I loved her, even though I myself remained in complete
ignorance of being in that enraptured state. How wonderful is woman's
intuition!

She has foresworn practical joking. We have exchanged vows. We have
plighted our troth. She is mine and I am hers. She has gone from me to
win her uncle's consent and to invoke his blessing upon our banns. Soon
she will return to me.

In her absence I fondly dwell upon her words. "Dearest," she said, "you
need some one to take care of you. And I am going to take the job."

Sweet child! In her confusion she twisted her meaning. She meant of
course that she had need of me to care for her.

"And now," she said a moment later, "and now I'm going to teach you how
to kiss a girl."

Under this head I shall say naught, except that she has taught me. There
are things too sacred, too beautiful to be described in detail in the
written