for a mess of cabbages, as the camp-meeting brother
called it."

They both laugh,--Polly with a mirthful ring, Eugene lazily.

"And now I must take my bag of gold on one end of a stick and my best
clothes done up in a bundle on the other, and go out to the new
Territories. A young man grows up governor or senator, or some great
personage there. I think it must be in the atmosphere,--ozone or odyle,
what is it?"

She laughs again, a pleasant sound to hear. He is so very handsome in
this mock-plaintive mood, with his beseeching eyes.

"You know I ought to do the world some good."

"Yes. And the Presidents come from the West. I would rather be a
President."

"Oh, you couldn't, you know"; and he laughs again. "Is there nothing
else that would satisfy your ambition?"

"Nothing!" She seems to shake a shower of gold out of the waving hair
on her brow.

"Nothing," he repeats, disconsolately. "Then I may as well go. You see
before you a struggling but worthy young man, born to a better
heritage, but cruel fate----"

"Well, cruel fate," she says, as if prompting him.

He turns, and she blushes vividly. He bends lower until the warm cheek,
soft as a girl's, touches hers, and the lips meet. Then he draws her
arm through his, and takes her parasol.

"I wonder," he says, presently, "if I could get enough together to buy
you of your father? Might I try?"

"You mercenary wretch!" she cries, but the tone is delicious.

"See here," he says, "some fellows have the cheek to ask such a gift
for just nothing at all. I rate you more highly."

That is very sweet flattery. Her eyes droop and the color comes and
goes.

"You might ask him," she says, in a tone of irresistible fascination,
"but I do not believe you will have _quite_ enough."

"Then I shall start for Dakota."

They ramble up and down, and Eugene allows himself to sup of delight.
Does it make so much difference, after all, whom he marries? Polly is
very charming and her lips are like rose-leaves. She loves him also,
and she isn't the kind to bore a man.

Late that evening Violet steals out on the porch for a breath of the
dewy air. Cecil has been wakeful and the stories almost endless. Floyd
has not come home to dinner, and she feels strangely nervous.

Eugene has some idle moments on his hands.

"Come down the walk!" he exclaims, "I have something to tell you"; and
he draws her gently toward him, taking the limp hand in his. As they go
down in the light F