Tuesday night found him seated with Pert in the cozy, old-fashioned little sitting-room, before the blazing embers of a large, wood fire, for it had suddenly turned cold. Checkers had brought up the illustrated papers, and with these and the banjo, with nuts and apples, pop-corn and cider, for refection, time sped merrily on. Now, just how it all came about that night, Checkers never adequately explained to me. He always claimed, shamefacedly, to have a confused recollection of the matter. But suffice it to say, there came an opportunity, and, forgetting his former resolutions, forgetting his poverty--everything, he told as best he could the story of his love to the listening girl beside him. What matter how he told it? She cared not for that, so long as the tale rang true to her ears; and of Checkers' whole-hearted sincerity, there was never a doubt, as after events proved. The strangeness of a woman's love has been a prolific source of wonder and remark for philosophers of every age. It should not, therefore, seem incongruous that Checkers, penniless, slangy, illiterate, should have won, in a few, short weeks, the love of a girl whom Arthur, a higher type, from a worldly standpoint, had tried for years to make his own, without success. Perhaps the explanation lay in the fact that Checkers possessed two qualities in which Arthur was wholly lacking--tact and magnetism; and again, Pert was too young and inexperienced to let worldly advantages weigh with her. At all events, they sat there together, blissful in their new-found happiness, talking the love all lovers talk, and heedless of the speeding hours. As Checkers rather coyly put it, "There was n't very much room in the room." The fire had died almost to ashes, and for the hundredth time he had said, "I must go," when suddenly he was jerked from his seat by a rough hand which had laid hold of his collar. With a violent effort he broke away, and, turning about, faced Mr. Barlow. "So!" snorted the old man, angrily, "so this is what ye 're doin', is it, settin' here philanderin'? I reckoned somethin' was goin' on. You go to yer room, girl; come, git along. And you, my young jack-snipe, mosey off afore I wear ye out with a switch." Checkers' surprise had been so complete that for a moment he could not collect himself. Then such was his sense of anger at the indignity that had been put upon him that only Pert's hand upon his arm restrained him from making a fight of it. As it was, the two men stood with an armchair between them, grimly glaring at each other. "Father," cried Pert, peeping timidly from behind Checkers, "Mr. Campbell and I are engaged to be married." "To be what?" howled the old man, dancing with rage. "To be married," said Checkers. "Now, listen to me, and don't you get so gay with yourself. I love your daughter; she loves me; we are going to be married, and that's the end of it."