en topic of
our lives.

'He's too much afraid of her,' she said, 'he ought to put his arm about
her waist in that love scene.'

'Like that,' I said, suiting the action to the word.

'About like that,' she answered, laughing, 'and then he ought to say
something very, very, nice to her before he proposes--something about
his having loved her for so long--you know.'

'And how about her?' I asked, my arm still about her waist.

'If she really loves him,' Hope answered, 'she would put her arms about
his neck and lay her head upon his shoulder, so; and then he might say
what is in the story.' She was smiling now as she looked up at me.

'And kiss her?'

'And kiss her,' she whispered; and, let me add, that part of the scene
was in nowise neglected.

'And when he says: "will you wait for me and keep me always in your
heart?" what should be her answer,' I continued.

'Always!' she said.

'Hope, this is our own story,' I whispered. 'Does it need any further
correction?'

'It's too short--that's all,' she answered, as our lips met again.

Just then Uncle Eb opened the door, suddenly.

'Tut tut!' he said tuning quickly about

'Come in, Uncle Eb,' said Hope, 'come right in, we want to see you.

In a moment she had caught him by the arm.

'Don' want 'o break up the meetin',' said he laughing.

'We don't care if you do know,' said Hope, 'we're not ashamed of it.'

'Hain't got no cause t' be,' he said. 'Go it while ye're young 'n full
'o vinegar! That's what I say every time. It's the best fun there is. I
thought I'd like t' hev ye both come up t' my room, fer a minute, 'fore
yer mother 'n father come back,' he said in a low tone that was almost a
whisper.

Then he shut one eye, suggestively, and beckoned with his head, as we
followed him up the stairway to the little room in which he slept. He
knelt by the bed and pulled out the old skin-covered trunk that David
Brower had given him soon after we came. He felt a moment for the
keyhole, his hand trembling, and then I helped him open the trunk.
From under that sacred suit of broadcloth, worn only on the grandest
occasions, he fetched a bundle about the size of a man's head. It was
tied in a big red handkerchief. We were both sitting on the floor beside
him.

'Heft it,' he whispered.

I did so and found it heavier than I expected.

'What is it?' I asked.

'Spondoolix,' he whispered.

Then he untied the bundle--a close packed hoard of bankbills with some
p