in her
voice.

"I hoped to pick a fortune off a tree somewhere, and come back and surprise
you with it. I was going to buy an automobile--one of those low ones as
long as a Pullman car--and fill it with roses, and come dashing up to your
front door and take you for a ride through the hills. It was to be autumn.
I had even that fixed," he laughed. "Oh, I had everything thought out! And
you were going to be so proud of me!... But I couldn't find a fortune-tree
anywhere...." He looked away, embarrassed. He hadn't meant to tell her
this.

"Gil!" she cried.

"I guess they don't grow any more. At least, not in this part of the
country." He rose, a bit wearily, and walked over to the mantel-piece.

"What did you do, Gil?" she asked, her eyes following him.

"Well, I was a time-keeper on a railroad and weigh-boss in a coal mine.
After that I punched cows until I got uncle to come here. Then the war
started, and--that's all."

Then she asked what a woman always asks.

"Why didn't you ever write to me, Gil?"

"I was waiting for some good news to tell you. I felt you would consider me
a failure--a rank failure. I couldn't have stood that. Women don't know how
proud men are about that."

"Maybe we don't--and maybe we do, Gil." She went closer to him. "Why don't
you marry?" she dared to inquire.

He was startled. "Marry?" he repeated.

"Yes; you need someone to take care of you--someone to look after your
daily needs--every man does."

"I guess there's no doubt about that. But it ought to be a guardian in my
case; or maybe a keeper." She could see that he was stalling for time, and
trying to laugh off a topic that was serious indeed to him.

"We're such old friends, Gil," she said, looking at his handsome face. "I
don't like to go--to think of you always, like this--alone."

"I still have uncle," he reminded her.

"Oh, don't joke, Gil! You need a woman--a wife--someone to mother you."

"All those?"

Why couldn't he be serious for a moment? She asked him that.

"I don't dare to, Lucia." His voice was low.

She was a bit puzzled. "Why?"

"Because the minute you begin to take life seriously, it takes _you_ that
way, and then--"

"But don't you see what it would mean to you, dear Gil? To have someone
always here; to kiss you when you go; to greet you when you come back; to
laugh with you when you are glad; and comfort you when things go wrong. To
give you the sympathy, the understanding that a man finds only i