The clarion call of Mrs. Halliday’s big red rooster announcing fervently his discovery of a thin streak of silver light in the east brought Don to his elbow with a start. For a moment he could not place himself, and then, as he realized where he was and what this day meant for him, he took a long deep breath.

“In the morning,” she had said.

Technically it was now morning, though his watch informed him that it was not yet five. By now, then, she had made her decision. Somewhere in this old house, perhaps within sound of his voice, she was waiting with the verdict that was to decide whether he was going back to New York the happiest or the unhappiest man in all Christendom. No, that was not quite right either. Even if she said “No” that would not decide it. It would mean only another day of waiting, because he was going to keep right on trying to make her 295 understand––day after day, all summer and next winter and the next summer if necessary. He was going to do that because, if he ever let go of this hope, then he would be letting go of everything.

He found it quite impossible to sleep again and equally impossible to lie there awake. Jumping from bed he dressed, shaved, and went downstairs, giving Mrs. Halliday the start of her life when he came upon her as she was kindling the kitchen fire.

“Land sakes alive,” she gasped, “I didn’t expect to see you for a couple hours.”

“I know it’s early,” he answered uncomfortably; “I don’t suppose Sally is up?”

Mrs. Halliday touched a match to the kindling and put the stove covers back in place.

“There isn’t anything lazy about Sally, but she generally does wait until the sun is up,” she returned.

She filled the teakettle and then, adjusting her glasses, took a more critical look at Don.

“Wasn’t ye warm enough last night?” she demanded.

“Plenty, thank you,” he answered.

“Perhaps bein’ in new surroundings bothered you,” she suggested; “I can’t ever sleep myself till I git used to a place.”

“I slept like a log,” he assured her.

“Is this the time ye ginerally git up in New York?”

“Not quite as early as this,” he admitted. “But, you see, that rooster––”

“I see,” she nodded. “And ye kind of hoped it might wake up Sally too?”

“I took a chance,” he smiled.

“Well, now, as long as ye seem so anxious I’ll tell ye something; maybe it did. Anyhow, I heard her movin’ round afore I came down. Draw a chair up to the stove and make yourself comfortable.”

“Thanks.”

The dry heat from the burning wood was already warming the room. Outside he heard the morning songs of the birds. It no longer seemed early to him. It was as though the world were fully awake, just because he knew now that Sally was awake. For a few minutes Mrs. Halliday continued her tasks as though unmindful that he was about. It was such a 297 sort of friendly acceptance of him as part of the household that he began to feel as much at home here as though it were his usual custom to appear at this hour. There was something more friendly about even Mrs. Halliday’s back than about the faces of a great many people he knew. It looked as though it had borne a great many burdens, but having borne them sturdily was ready for more. It invited confidences. Then the teakettle began to bubble and sing and that invited confidences too. He was choking with things he wished to say––preferably to Sally herself, but if that were not possible, then Mrs. Halliday was certainly the next best confidante. Besides, being the closest relative of Sally’s it was only fitting and proper that she should be told certain facts. Sooner or later she must know and now seemed a particularly opportune time. Don rose and moved his chair to attract her attention.

“Mrs. Halliday––” he began.

“Wal?” she replied, without turning. She was at that moment busy over the biscuit board.

“There’s something I think I ought to tell you.”

She turned instantly at that––turned, adjusted her spectacles, and waited.

“I––I’ve asked Sally to marry me,” he confessed.

For a moment her thin, wrinkled face remained immobile. Then he saw a smile brighten the shrewd gray eyes.

“You don’t say!” she answered. “I’ve been wonderin’ just how long ye’d be tellin’ me that.”

“You knew? Sally told you?” he exclaimed.

“Not in so many words, as ye might say,” she answered. “But laws sake, when a girl wakes me up to say she doesn’t think a young man has blankets enough on his bed in this kind of weather––”

“She did that?” interrupted Don.

“Thet’s jest what she did. But long afore thet you told me yourself.”

“I?”

“Of course. It’s jest oozin’ out all over you.”

She came nearer. For a second Don felt as 299 though those gray eyes were boring into his soul.

“Look here, young man,” she said. “What did Sally say?”

“She said she’d let me know this morning,” he answered.

“And you’ve been blamin’ my old rooster for gettin’ you up?”

“Not blaming him exactly,” he apologized.

“And you aren’t sure whether she’s goin’ to say yes or goin’ to say no?”

Don’s lips tightened.

“I’m not sure whether she’s going to say yes or no this morning. But, believe me, Mrs. Halliday, before she dies she’s going to say yes.”

Mrs. Halliday nodded approvingly. She went further; she placed a thin hand on Don’s shoulder. It was like a benediction. His heart warmed as though it had been his mother’s hand there.

“Don,” she said, as naturally as though she had been saying it all her life, “I don’t know much about you in one way. But I like your face and I like your eyes. I go a lot by a man’s eyes. More’n that, I know Sally, and there 300 was never a finer, honester girl made than she is. If she has let you go as far as this, I don’t think I’d worry myself to death.”

“That’s the trouble,” he answered. “She didn’t let me go as far as this. I––I just went.”

Mrs. Halliday smiled again.

“Mebbe you think so,” she admitted.

“You see––” he stammered.

But at that moment he heard a rustle of skirts behind him. There stood Sally herself––her cheeks very red, with a bit of a frown above her eyes. It was Mrs. Halliday who saved the day.

“Here, now, you two,” she stormed as she went back to her biscuit board. “Both of you clear out of here until breakfast is ready. You belong outdoors where the birds are singing.”

“I’ll set the table, Aunty,” replied Sally grimly.

“You’ll do nothing of the kind,” replied Mrs. Halliday.

She crossed the room and, taking Sally by one arm she took Don by the other. She led them to the door.

“Out with you,” she commanded.

Alone with her Don turned to seek Sally’s eyes and saw the frown still there.

“I––I told her,” he admitted; “I couldn’t help it. I’ve been up for an hour and I had to talk to some one.”

He took her arm.

“You’ve decided?” he asked.

His face was so tense, his voice so eager, that it was as much as she could do to remain vexed. Still, she resented the fact that he had spoken to her aunt without authority. It was a presumption that seemed to take for granted her answer. It was as though he thought only one answer possible.

“Heart of me,” he burst out, “you’ve decided?”

“You––you had no right to tell her,” she answered.

“Come down the road a bit,” he pleaded.

He led her down the path and along the country road between fields wet with dew. The air was clean and sweet and the sky overhead a spotless blue. It was the freshest and cleanest world he had ever seen and she was one with it.

“I only told her what she already knew,” he said.

“She knew?”

He spoke in a lower voice––a voice gentle and trembling.

“She said you came in last night after she had gone asleep––”

Sally covered her face with her hands.

“Oh,” she gasped, “she––she told you that?”

He reached up and gently removed her hands. He held them tight in both of his.

“It was good of you to think of me like that. It was like you,” he said.

All the while he was drawing her nearer and nearer to him. She resisted. At least she thought she was resisting, but it didn’t seem to make any difference. Nearer his eyes came to hers; nearer his lips came to hers. She gave a quick gasp as one before sudden danger. Then she felt his warm lips against hers and swayed slightly. But his arms were about her. They were strong about her, so that, while she felt as though hanging dizzily over a precipice, she at the same moment never felt safer 303 in her life. With his lips against her lips, she closed her eyes until, to keep from losing herself completely, she broke free. Her cheeks scarlet, her breath coming short, her eyes like stars, she stared at him a moment, and then like a startled fawn turned and ran for the house. He followed, but her feet were tipped with wings. He did not catch her until she had burst into the kitchen, where in some fear Mrs. Halliday gathered her into her arms.

“She hasn’t answered me even yet,” he explained to Mrs. Halliday.

“Oh, Don,” cried the trembling girl, her voice smothered in Mrs. Halliday’s shoulder. “You dare say that after––”

“Well, after what?” demanded Mrs. Halliday.