ver leave you--never! Don't cry!"

She drew his head down and kissed his lips, then turned her face to his
breast--then joy and confidence came back to her.

"I know now what you meant," she cried, gayly, raising herself and
looking into his face; "you were trying to scare me; trying to make me
show how much I--cared for you--first!" There was a soft smile on her
lips and a tender light in her eyes. "But I don't mind it."

"I guess I didn't know myself what I meant," he answered, with a grave
smile.

When Mrs. Welsh came in, they were sitting on the sofa, talking in low
voices of their future. He was grave and subdued, while she was radiant
with love and hope. The future had no terrors for her, but the boy
unconsciously felt the gravity of life somehow deepened by the
revelation of her love.

"Why, Maud!" Mrs. Welsh exclaimed, "what are you doing?"

"Oh, mother, I'm so happy--just as happy as a bird!" she cried, rushing
into her mother's arms.

"Why, why!--what is it? You're crying, dear!"

"No, I'm not; I'm laughing--see!"

Mrs. Welsh turned her dim eyes on the girl, who shook the tears from her
lashes with the action of a bird shaking water from its wings. She
seemed to shake off her trouble at the same moment.

Mrs. Welsh understood perfectly. "I'm very glad, too, dearie," she said,
simply, looking at the young man with motherly love irradiating her worn
face. Albert went to her, and she kissed him, while the happy girl put
her arms about them both in an ecstatic hug.

"_Now_ you've got a son, mother."

"But I've lost a daughter--my first-born."

"Oh, wait till you hear our plans! He's going to settle down
here--aren't you, Albert?"

Then she went away and left the young people alone. They had a sweet,
intimate talk of an hour, full of plans and hopes and confidences, and
then he kissed his radiant love good-night, and, going into his own
room, sat down by the stove and there pondered on the change that had
come into his life.

Already he sighed with the stress of care, the press of thought, which
came upon him. The longing uneasiness of the boy had given place to
another unrest--the unrest of the man who must face the world in earnest
now, planning for food and shelter. To go back to school was out of the
question. To expect help from his father, overworked and burdened with
debt, was impossible. He must go to work, and go to work to aid _her_. A
living must be wrung from this town. All the home a