Again she asked the question: "How did you ever stand it, dear?" Only once in the old life had she ever so called him, and that was by the Lighthouse, and then very shyly. Today endearments came readily to her lips.
The words came far less easily to his, in this tête-à-tête under the palms. Hungrily he drank in each note, thinking how like they were to the lighter ones of the waterfall back in the mountain, which he had called "Sally's Bridal Veil." He must show it to her in the morningtête-à-têteand the mystery! It was the first time that day that he had thought of it, and it had been so much in his mind.
Then he found speech.
"I didn't dare lose my nerve. I made myself believe that I'd get back sometime, though I never dreamed of this!"
In the silence that followed, he sighed, which was an unusual thing for a husky chap not "long" on self-pity. But it was like the sigh of one long thirsting and parched—after a full draught that brings a Heavenly relief. Then for more earthly solace, he filled the heavy-bowl pipe, the lighting of which the girl accomplished with a skill born of long practice in waiting on "her menfolks." She had always "liked to see men smoke"—for the pleasure it gave them and—some times for the reprieve she gained for herself from uncertain tempers. But a rare pleasure and privilege it was now—this and all the other little attentions for this boy. So she watched him with a contentment that quite equalled his, as he puffed, puffed, away, and dreamily continued:
"Mother used to say, 'work is a blessing.' I never was lazy exactly, but I never realized she was right until I was
