Reed nodded. “I remember last summer that you said you would never leave your cousin while she needed you. She will stop needing you if she goes to her brother, and so what it’s been as hard as the mischief to keep from saying I’m going to say. Don’t you think it would be nice if we could always spend our summers up there on little Minor’s Island, you, and fiddle and I? Then I could change the name to Happy House. I don’t say that I hadn’t admired other girls before I saw you, but since that first evening at Uncle Pete’s I knew there never would be any other girl for me. I was bowled over then and there for keeps. Don’t you like me a right smart lot, Cronette? Bless that darling little name that is all ours, and that no one else uses. Cronette Marshall, how’s that for a name?” “Oh, Reed, you are so ridiculous,” answered Ellen, half laughing, half crying. He moved his chair closer and took her two hands. “Look me in the face,” he said, “and tell me truthfully whether or not I saw something in those lovely eyes of yours a while ago that makes me hope that you will agree to the name of Happy House. You and fiddle and I together, think of it, Cronette, and don’t you know it would please Uncle Pete?” Ellen raised her eyes shyly, but what Reed saw there appeared to satisfy him. And then came a flurry of opening the front door, and a crisp call of “Ellen, come help me in with these things.” Ellen dashed out; Reed followed. “I want to help, too,” he said. Miss Rindy set down a netted bag full of her purchases. “Hello!” she said. “What are you doing here?” “Just passing by and thought I’d drop in,” answered he. “Don’t palm off that sort of talk on me,” replied Miss Rindy. “Come on in and give an account of yourself.” “You won’t put me to bed, like that other time? It’s too cold to climb out windows.” “I noticed you didn’t stay put long. Come in and give an account of yourself. Has Ellen told you our news?” “Yes, and I’ve told her mine. Shall we tell her ours, Ellen?” Ellen made no reply, but rushed out to the kitchen with the bag and bundles. When she came back the two were sitting on the sofa, Reed’s arm around Miss Rindy. She looked as if she had been crying, but at Ellen’s entrance she sat up very straight and tried to look stern. “You needn’t think you’ve stolen a march on me, miss,” she said. “I’ve seen this coming for a long time.” “Oh, have you?” exclaimed Ellen in astonishment. “Yes, I have, but you are entirely too young, both of you, to think of getting married; you not nineteen and he only twenty-three. You must wait two or three years.” “Three years!” Reed looked aghast. “No home, no friends, no Ellen. How can you, Miss Rindy?” “Well, we’ll say two.” “We’ll wait till you get back from Seattle,” interposed Ellen.