ried Clyde. "I'll order silver mugs to-morrow, and start a
savings account for each baby."

"Go slow!" he laughed. "You'll have 'em all named after you at that
rate."

"I'll get the mugs and a spoon, anyway. I never was so flattered
before. I've just begun to _live_ since I came out here. Why, Casey, my
life was absolutely empty. You can't imagine how lonely and bored I
was."

"What a shame! We'll see that it doesn't occur again. Which opens an
interesting question: When are you going to marry me?"

"Why--I hadn't thought. I suppose we should think of it."

"Well, it's usual, under the circumstances."

"Next June? I think I should like to be a June bride."

"See here, young lady," said Casey severely, "what sort of a gold brick
is this? Are you aware that we are in the fag end of July?"

"It's really not a long engagement. A year soon passes."

"And the years soon pass. I'm not going to be defrauded of a year's
happiness. I'll stand for any time in September, but not a day later."

"September! But, my dearest boy, that's only a few weeks."

"That's why I said September."

She laughed happily. "Very well, September. But I'll have a thousand
things to do. I'll have to go back with Uncle Jim."

"What's the use? Stay here. Kitty Wade will stay, too. I'll coax her."

"But I've all sorts of things to buy?"

"Order 'em by mail."

"My trousseau _by mail_!" she exclaimed, in horror. "It would be
sacrilege."

"Oh, well, suit yourself," said Casey, with a sigh of resignation.
"Thank the Lord it only happens once."

She laughed. "And then there's our honeymoon to plan. Where shall we
spend it?"

"It's up to you. Wherever you say."

"You've never been to Europe?"

"No. But I'd rather do my honeymooning where I can ask for what I want
with some chance of getting it."

"But I speak French, German, and Italian--not fluently, but well enough
to get along on."

"And I talk United States, Chinook, and some Cree--we ought to get
along almost anywhere," he laughed. "Let's leave this Europe business
open. Now here's a really serious question: When our honeymoon is
over--what?"

"I don't understand."

"Where shall we live? I can sell out here, if you like."

"But you wouldn't like?"

"I'd hate to," he admitted.

"I know. So should I. We'll live here, at Chakchak. It shall be our
home."

"Would you be contented? It's lonely at times. The winters are long.
You'd miss your friends and your old life."

"I