ou. Will you, Jerrie?'

His face was so close to hers now that her hot cheeks touched his as she
bent her head lower and lower, but she made no reply for a moment, and
then she cried:

'Oh, Harold, it seems so soon, with Maude only buried to-day. What shall
I say? What ought I to say?'

'Shall I tell you?' he answered, taking her hand in his. 'Say the first
English word you ever spoke, and which I taught you. Do you remember
it?'

'_Iss_' came involuntarily from Jerrie, in the quick, lisping accent of
her babyhood, when that was all the English she could master; and almost
before it had escaped her, Harold smothered it with the kisses he
pressed upon her lips as he claimed her for his own.

'But, Harold,' she tried to explain between his kisses, 'I meant that I
_did_ remember. You must not--you must not kiss me so fast. You take my
breath away. There! I won't stand it any longer. I'm going straight home
to tell grandma how you act!'

'And so am I,' Harold said, rising as she did, but keeping his arm
around her as they went slowly along in the soft September night, with
the stars, which were shining for the first time on Maude's grave,
looking down upon then, and a thought of Maude in their hearts, and her
dear name often upon their lips, as they talked of the past as lovers
will, trying to recall just when it was that friendship ceased and love
began, and deciding finally that neither knew nor cared when it was, so
great was their present joy and anticipation of the future.

CHAPTER LII.

'FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE.'

'Grandma, Jerrie has promised to be my wife!' Harold said to his
grandmother that night when he took Jerrie in to her about ten o'clock,
during which time they had walked to the Tramp House, and sitting down
upon the chair which would hold but one, had talked the whole matter
over, from the morning Harold first saw the sweet little face in the
carpet-bag to the present moment when the same sweet face was pressed
lovingly against his, and the same arms which had clung to him in the
snow were around his neck in the darkness, as they went over with the
old, old story, newest always and best to the last one who listens to it
and believes that it is true.

'Father, I have promised to marry Harold,' Jerrie said to Arthur the
next morning as she stood before him in the Gretchen room, with Harold's
hand in hers, and a look in her face something like what Gretchen's had
worn when Arthur first calle