“Mother and Dad,” said Billy, uncertainly, “I—­I’ve brought Lydia home to you!  Look at her, Dad!  Isn’t she a peach!”

Lydia stood with her back against the door, cheeks scarlet, golden head held high, but her lips quivering.

Ma dropped her loaf of bread.  “Oh, Lydia,” she cried, “I thought that numskull of a Billy never would see daylight!  I’ve prayed for this for years.  Come straight over here to your mother, love.”

But Pa Norton had dropped his paper when Ma dropped her bread and had not paused for comments.  He made three strides to Lydia, and gave her a great hug and a kiss.  Then he said, “First time I saw you carrying that milk for Billy’s books, I said, there’s the wife Billy ought to have.  Ma, wasn’t she the dearest—­”

But Ma shoved him aside contemptuously.  “Get over and talk to Billy.  This is a woman’s affair.  Who cares about reminiscences now.  Oh, Billy, do you remember I used to worry because she didn’t keep the back of her neck clean!”

“Who’s reminiscencing now?” asked Pa belligerently.

Everybody laughed.  Then Pa sighed.  “Well, I feel almost reconciled now to Bill’s giving up farming.  When’re you going to be married?”

Lydia blushed.  “Oh, not for a long time.  Now, let’s go and tell my people, Billy.”

Out in the night again!  Curious how long the short walk to the cottage could be made!  Curious how near the stars were—­heaven just over the road where the lovers strolled.  Not strange that such ecstasy cannot last forever.  The human mind could not bear that heaven-born rapture too long.

Lizzie was mending.  Amos was sitting in his arm chair, with a bit of paper on which he was figuring.  Lydia flew across the room and dropped on her knees beside him.

“Oh, Daddy dear, look at me!  Billy’s here and he’s always going to be here.  Tell us you’re glad.”

Amos looked up with a jerk.  First at Billy standing stalwart and grave by the table, his deep eyes as steady as the hand he held out to Lizzie.  Then at his daughter, with her transformed face.

“But,” protested Amos, “I thought it was to be Kent.”

“Oh, it couldn’t have been Kent,” exclaimed Lydia.  “We never would have understood each other.  Kent was for Margery.”

A frown gathered on Amos’ face.  He did not really want Lydia to marry any one.  All that had reconciled him to the thought of Kent had been Kent’s relation to the Indian lands.  And now, he discovered that he didn’t want to give his daughter to any one.  He threw a jealous arm about her.

“No, you can’t have her, Billy,” he said.  “Nobody shall have her.  She’s too good for the best man living.”

“Yes, she is,” agreed Billy.  “But that isn’t the point.  The point is that Lydia actually wants me.  I don’t understand it myself, but she does and I know I can make her happy.”

“I can make her happy myself,” said Amos, gruffly.