ked. Good-by to the sweet girl whose smile
was so much to him, and to the happy noons and nights her eyes had made
for him. He waved his hat at her as he stood in the open gate, and the
sun lighted his handsome head into a sort of glory in her eyes. Then he
turned and walked rapidly off down the road, not looking back.

The girl, when she could no longer see him, dashed away, and, sobbing
violently, entered the house.

II

There was just a suspicion of light in the east, a mere hint of a glow,
when Lyman walked cautiously around the corner of the house and tapped
at Marietta's window. She was sleeping soundly and did not hear, for she
had been restless during the first part of the night. He tapped again,
and the girl woke without knowing what woke her.

Lyman put the blade of his pocket-knife under the window and raised it a
little, and then placed his lips to the crack, and spoke in a sepulchral
tone, half groan, half whisper:--

"Merry! Merry Etty!"

The dazed girl sat up in bed and listened, while her heart almost stood
still.

"Merry, it's me--Lime. Come to the winder." The girl hesitated, and
Lyman spoke again.

"Come, I hain't got much time. This is your last chance t' see me. It's
now 'r never."

The girl slipped out of bed, and, wrapping herself in a shawl, crept to
the window.

"Boost on that winder," commanded Lyman. She raised it enough to admit
his head, which came just above the sill; then she knelt on the floor by
the window.

Her eyes stared wide and dark.

"Lime, what in the world do you mean--"

"I mean business," he replied. "I ain't no last year's chicken; I know
when the old man sleeps the soundest." He chuckled pleasantly.

"How 'd y' fool old Rove?"

"Never mind about that now; they's something more important on hand.
You've got t' go with me."

She drew back, "Oh, Lime, I can't!"

He thrust a great arm in and caught her by the wrist.

"Yes, y' can. This is y'r last chance. If I go off without ye t'night, I
never come back. What makes ye gig back? Are ye 'fraid o' me?"

"N-no; but--but--"

"But what, Merry Etty?"

"It ain't right to go an' leave Dad all alone. Where y' goin' t' take
me, anyhow?"

"Milt Jennings let me have his horse an' buggy; they're down the road a
piece, an' we'll go right down to Rock River and be married by sun-up."

The girl still hesitated, her firm, boyish will unwontedly befogged.
Resolute as she was, she could not at once accede to his