er all those strange new stars above us, and
together we surveyed the replenished heavens.

"How light it is--and so late!" she murmured absently.

"Come back to our porch."

There for the first time in its green life my vine came into its natural
right of screening lovers. In its shade my love cast down her eyes, but
intrepidly lifted her lips. Miss Caroline was still where she should
have remained in the first place.

"I am very happy, Little Miss!"

"You shall be still happier, Calvin Blake. I haven't waited this long
without knowing--"

"Nor I! I know, too."

"I hope Jim will be glad," she suggested.

"He'll be delighted, and vastly relieved. It has puzzled him fearfully
of late to see you living away from me."

We sat down, for there seemed much to say.

"I believed more than you did, with all your game," she taunted me.

"But you broke the rules. Anybody can believe anything if he can break
all the rules."

"I'd a dreadful time showing you that I meant to."

I shall not detail a conversation that could have but little interest to
others. Indeed, I remember it but poorly. I only know that it seemed
magically to feed upon itself, yet waxed to little substance for the
memory.

One thing, however, I retain vividly enough. In a moment when we both
were silent, renewing our amazement at the stars, there burst upon the
night a volume of song that I instantly identified.

"She sleeps, my lady sleeps!" sang the clear tenor of Arthur Updyke. "My
lady sleeps--she sleeps!" sang three other voices in well-blended
corroboration; after which the four discoursed upon this interesting
theme.

We were down from the stars at once, but I saw nothing to laugh at, and
said as much.

"We might take them out some sandwiches and things to drink," persisted
my Little Miss.

But the starlight had shown me a gleam in her eyes that was too
outrageously Peavey.

"We will _not_" I chanted firmly to the music's mellowed accompaniment.
"I am free to say now that the thing must be stopped, but you shall do
it less brutally--to-morrow or next day."

"Oh, well, if you--"

She nestled again. So soon had this habit seemed to fasten upon her
adaptable nature.

"It's wonderful what one arm can do," she said; and in the darkness she
felt for the closing hand of it to draw it yet more firmly about her.

"It has the spirit of all the arms in the world, Little Miss--oh, my
Little Miss--my dream woman come true!"

She nestle