ed into each other's
eyes. And, what was the most astonishing thing about it all, their
secret remained undiscovered. Undiscovered, that is to say, by those
by whom discovery would have meant calamity. The gossips among the
townspeople winked and chuckled and cal'lated Fletcher Fosdick had
better look out or his girl would be took into the firm of Z. Snow and
Co. Issachar Price uttered sarcastic and sly innuendoes. Jane Kelsey
and her set ragged the pair occasionally. But even these never really
suspected that the affair was serious. And neither Mrs. Fletcher Fosdick
nor Captain and Mrs. Zelotes Snow gave it a minute's attention.

It was serious enough with the principals, however. To them it was the
only serious matter in the world. Not that they faced or discussed the
future with earnest and complete attention. Some day or other--that was
of course the mutually accepted idea--some day or other they were to
marry. In the meantime here was the blissful present with its roses
and rainbows and here, for each, was the other. What would be likely to
happen when the Fosdick parents learned of the engagement of their
only child to the assistant bookkeeper of the South Harniss lumber and
hardware company was unpleasant to contemplate, so why contemplate it?
Upon one point they were agreed--never, never, NEVER would they
give each other up. No power on earth--which included parents and
grandparents--should or could separate them.

Albert's conscience troubled him slightly at first when he thought of
Helen Kendall. It had been in reality such a short time--although of
course it seemed ages and ages--since he had fancied himself in love
with her. Only the previous fall--yes, even that very spring, he
had asked her to pledge herself to him. Fortunately--oh, how very
fortunately!--she had refused, and he had been left free. Now he knew
that his fancied love for her had been merely a passing whim, a delusion
of the moment. This--THIS which he was now experiencing was the grand
passion of his life. He wrote a poem with the title, "The Greater
Love"--and sold it, too, to a sensational periodical which circulated
largely among sentimental shopgirls. It is but truthful to state that
the editor of the magazine to which he first submitted it sent it back
with the brief note--"This is a trifle too syrupy for our use. Fear the
pages might stick. Why not send us another war verse?" Albert treated
the note and the editor with the contempt th