eally could have
been excused for having heart trouble. The more I watched her, the
more I wondered that she didn't. There was her own life, the one she
and father led, where everything went exactly as she wanted it to; and
if there had been only themselves to think of, no people on earth could
have lived happier, unless the pain she sometimes suffered made them
trouble, and I don't think it would, for neither of them were to blame
for that. They couldn't help it. They just had it to stand, and fight
the stiffest they could to cure it, and mother always said she was
better; every single time any one asked, she was better. I hoped soon
it would all be gone. Then they could have been happy for sure, if
some of us hadn't popped up and kept them in hot water all the time.

I can't tell you about Laddie when he came back from Pryors'. He tore
down the house, then tore it up, and then threw around the pieces, and
none of us cared. Every one was just laughing, shouting, and every bit
as pleased as he was, while I was the Queen Bee. Laddie said so,
himself, and if he didn't know, no one did. Pryors had been lovely to
him. When mother asked him how he made it, he answered: "I rode over,
picked up the Princess and helped myself. After I finished, I
remembered the little unnecessary formality of asking her to marry me;
and she said right out loud that she WOULD. When I had time for them,
I reached Father and Mother Pryor, and maybe it doesn't show, but
somewhere on my person I carry their blessing, genially and heartily
given, I am proud to state. Now, I'm only needing yours, to make me a
king among men."

They gave it quite as willingly, I am sure, although you could see
mother scringe when Laddie said "Father and Mother Pryor." I knew why.
She adored Laddie, like the Bible says you must adore the Almighty.
From a tiny baby Laddie had taken care of her. He used to go back,
take her hand, and try to help her over rough places while he still
wore dresses. Straight on, he had been like that; always seeing when
there was too much work and trying to shield her; always knowing when a
pain was coming and fighting to head it off; always remembering the
things the others forgot, going to her last at night, and his face
against hers on her pillow the first in the morning, to learn how she
was before he left the house. If you were the mother of a man like
that, how would you like to hear him call some one else mother, an