Carol slipped an arm beneath his head and strove to pull his hand away from his face.

“Go on and do it,” she whispered passionately.  “I am not afraid.  You kissed me yesterday and it didn’t hurt me.  Kiss me, David,—­I don’t care if I do get it.”

He laughed at her then, uncertainly, brokenly, but he laughed.  “Oh, no you don’t, my lady,” he said.  “You’ve got to keep strong and well to take care of me.  You want to get sick so you’ll get half the petting.”

Like a flash came the revelation of what her future was to be.  “Oh, of course,” she cried, in a changed voice.  “Of course we must be careful,—­I forgot.  I’ll have to keep very strong and rugged, won’t I?  Indeed, I will be careful.”

Then they sat silent again.

“Out west,” he said at last dreamily.  “Out west.  I’ve always wanted to go west.  Not just this way, but—­maybe it is our chance, Carol.”

“Of course it is.  We’ll just rest and play a couple of months, and then come back better than ever.  No, let’s get a church out there and stay forever.  That will be Safety First.  Isn’t it grand we have that money in the bank, David?  Think how solemn it would be now if we were clear broke, as we were before we decided to economize and start a bank-account.”

David nodded, smiling, but the smile was grave.  The little bank-account was very fine, but to David, lying there with the wreck of his life about him, the outlook was solemn in spite of it.

CHAPTER IX

UPHEAVAL

“Forty-eight, forty-nine, fifty, fifty-one, fifty-two, fifty-three,—­for goodness’ sake!—­fifty-four, fifty-five.”  Carol looked helplessly at her dusty hands and mopped her face desperately with her forearm.

David, watching her from the bed in the adjoining room, gave way to silent laughter, and she resumed her solemn count.

“Forty-six, forty—­”

“Fifty-six,” he called.  “Don’t try any trickery on me.”

“Fifty-six, fifty-seven, fifty-eight, fifty-nine, sixty.”  She sighed audibly.  “Sixty-one, sixty-two, sixty-three, sixty-four—­sixty-four perfectly fresh eggs,” she announced, turning to the doorway and frowning at her husband, who still laughed.  “Sixty-four perfectly fresh eggs, all laid yesterday.”

“Now, I give you fair warning, my dear, I am no cold storage plant, and you can’t make me absorb any sixty-four egg-nogs daily just to even up the demand with the supply.  I drank seven yesterday, but this is too much.  You must seek another warehouse.”

“You are very clever and facetious, Davie, really quite entertaining.  But what am I to do with sixty-four fresh eggs?”

“And I may as well confess frankly that I consider a minister’s wife distinctly out of her sphere when she tries to corner the fresh egg market, particularly at the present price of existence.  It isn’t scriptural.  It isn’t orthodox.  I am surprised at you, Carol.  It must be some more Methodism cropping out.  I never knew a Presbyterian to do it.”