"He's as handsome as ever," continued Sukey, "and has a mustache. But
you will see him for yourself this evening. Good-by. I must be going.
Now come over real soon."

"I will," answered Rita, and Sukey left her musing happily upon the
hearth log.

Mr. Bays had been in Indianapolis for several days. He had not raised
the three thousand dollars, Williams, Sr., being at that time short of
money. Mrs. Bays and Tom had that evening driven to town to meet the
nominal head of the house. It was two o'clock when Sukey left Rita
gazing into the fire and computing the minutes till evening, when she
knew Dic would be with her. He might possibly come over for supper.

The weather was cold, and snow had been falling since noon. The sycamore
log was under the snow, and she did not hope to have Dic to herself; but
to have him at all would be joy sufficient, and she would dream of him
until he should come. While dreaming, she turned her face toward the
window to watch the falling snow. She did not see the snow, but instead
saw a man. She did not scream with delight, as I suppose she should have
done; she simply rose to her feet and waited in the fireplace till the
door opened and Dic walked in. She did not go to him, but stood
motionless till he came to her.

"Are you not glad to see me, Rita?" he asked. He could not see her eyes
in the dark room, or he would have had no need to ask. "Are you not
glad?" he repeated. She did not answer, but taking his face between her
hands drew it down to hers with infinite tenderness and passion. Then,
with her arms about his neck, she spoke the one word, "Glad?" and Dic
knew.

After she had uttered the big word of one syllable, she buried her face
on his breast and began to weep.

"Don't cry, Rita," pleaded Dic, "don't cry. I can't bear it."

"Ah, but let me cry for one little moment," she begged. "It is better
than laughing, and it helps me so much." There was, of course, but one
answer, and Dic, turning up her tear-stained face, replied eloquently.

After a chaotic period of several minutes they took their childhood's
place upon the hearth log within the warm, bright fireplace. Dic stirred
the fire, and the girl, nestling beside him, said:--

"Now tell me everything."

"Where shall I begin?" asked Dic; and after a pause in which to find a
starting-point, he said:--

"I have brought you a little present. I wanted to keep it till
to-morrow--Christmas--but I find I cannot." He produced a