et, she
directed Thor while he tied them to the bough of a birch that trailed
its lower branches to the snow. When they had gone forward they
perceived, on looking around, that some dozen or twenty of the
crimson-headed birds had found their food.

So they went on, scattering seeds or crumbs in sheltered spots, and
fixing masses of suet in conspicuous places, to an approving chirrup of
_dee-dee, chick-a-dee-dee-dee_, from friendly little throats. The
basket was almost emptied by the time they reached the outskirts of the
wood and neared the top of the hill.

Lois was fastening the last bunch of millet stalks to a branch hanging
just above her head. Thor stood behind her, holding the basket, and
noticing, as he had often noticed before, the slim shapeliness of her
hands. In spite of the cold, they were bare, the fur of the cuffs
falling back sufficiently to display the exquisitely formed wrists.

"Lois, when can we be married?"

She gave no sign of having heard him, unless it was that her hands
stopped for an instant in the deft rapidity of their task. Within a few
seconds they had resumed their work, though, it seemed to him, with less
sureness in the supple movement of the fingers. Beyond the upturned
collar of her coat he saw the stealing of a warm, slow flush.

He was moved, he hardly knew how. He hardly knew how, except that it was
with an emotion different from that which Rosie Fay had always roused in
him. In that case the impulse was primarily physical. He couldn't have
said what it was primarily in this. It was perhaps mental, or spiritual,
or only sympathetic. But it was an emotion. He was sure of that, though
he was less sure that it had the nature of love. As for love, since
yesterday the word sickened him. Its association had become, for the
present, at any rate, both sacred and appalling. He couldn't have used
it, even if he had been more positive concerning the blends that made up
his present sentiment.

It was to postpone as long as possible the moment for turning around
that Lois worked unnecessarily at the fastening of her millet stalks.
They were not yet secured to her satisfaction when, urged by a sudden
impulse, he bent forward and kissed her wrist. She allowed him to do
this without protest, while she knotted the ends of her string; but she
was obliged to turn at last.

"I didn't know you wanted to be married," she said, with shy frankness.

He responded as simply as she. "But now that you