Katschina arched her back. Dolly laughed and blushed. Stephen was her own true-love anyway, but she was glad to have them all like him. With the insistence of youth she felt she never could have loved any other man. Stephen clicked to Prince, who was rested and full of spirits. They drove almost straight across the city, about at the end of our first hundred numbered streets. But the road wound around to get out of a low marshy place, a pond in the rainy season, and some rocks that seemed tumbled up on end. They struck a bit of the old Boston Post Road, and that caused the little girl to stop her prattle and think of the old ladies they had never visited. She must "jog" her father's memory. That was what her mother always said when she recalled half-forgotten things. Stephen and Margaret had only spoken in answer to the little girl. He had a young man's awkwardness concerning a subject so dear to his heart. Margaret was awed by the mystery of love, captivated by Dolly's friendliness, and puzzled to decide what her mother would think of it. Stephen married! Any of them married for that matter. How strange it would seem! And yet she had sometimes said, "When I am married." The place was wild enough. You would hardly think so now when hollows have been filled and hills levelled, and rocks blasted away. After they turned a little stream wound in and out through the trees and bushes. Amid a tangled mass the little girl espied some wild roses. "Oh, Steve!" she cried, "may I get out and pick some?" "I will." He handed the reins over to Margaret and sprang down, running across a little bridge, and soon gathered a great handful. "Oh, thank you," and her eyes shone. "What a funny little bridge." "That's Kissing Bridge." "Who do you have to kiss?" asked the little girl mirthfully. "Well, a long while ago, in Van Twiller's time, I guess," with a twinkle in his eye, "there wasn't any bridge. The lovers used to carry their sweethearts over, and the charge was a kiss." "But there wasn't any kissing _bridge_ then," she said shrewdly. "When the bridge was built they stopped and kissed out of remembrance." "Was it really so, Margaret?" "It has been called that ever since I can remember." "You unkind girl, not to believe me!" exclaimed Stephen, with an air of offended dignity. "And I am ever so much older than Margaret." "You didn't carry _me_ over, but you carried the roses, so you shall have the kiss all the same," and as she reached up to his cheek they both smiled. Then they came down Broadway to Bleecker Street, and over home. Father Underhill was sitting on the stoop reading his paper. Jim begged to take the horse round to the stable. Margaret went up-stairs to pull off her best dress and put on her pink gingham. She had just finished and was calling for Hanny, when Stephen caught her in his arms. "Dear Peggy--you must have guessed." "Oh, Stephen! It seems so strange. Is it really so? I never dreamed----"