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 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 t