"Is it just the same as ever, Isadore?" "_Far immer und ewig_," he said slowly. Yetta had always shared her father's dislike for Yiddish, but somehow his dropping back into their mother-tongue seemed to her like a caress. "I guess that," he went on in the same language, "is what makes it seem so dreary to me--the lonesomeness." "Hush, Isadore," she said breathlessly. "You musn't talk like that. The Pauldings are going to Europe this summer. They told me you could go up to their camp, if there was any one to take care of you.--I'll go with you--we won't either of us be lonely any more--Oh Dear Heart.--Oh, it isn't anything to cry about--just because I've made up my mind to marry you. Dr. Liebovitz will give me an awful scolding if he finds you taking on so." A Christian Socialist minister married them, by a ceremony of his own concoction. It was quite as fantastic as his creed--but at least it was legal. As soon as Dr. Liebovitz would allow Isadore to be moved, they set out for the mountains. CHAPTER XXXI YETTA FINDS HERSELF The first days in the woods were distressing for Yetta. The strain of the journey had prostrated Isadore; she was afraid he was going to have a serious relapse. But he slept off the fatigue--fourteen and eighteen hours a day at first. And he soon regained his appetite. They got fresh milk and eggs and garden truck from a near-by farmer, and three times a week a man came in a boat with other provisions from the town at the foot of the lake. Isadore began to put on flesh and very gradually to regain his strength. When the first worry was over, Yetta entered into a period of perfect peace. The conviction which had grown on her gradually--unnoticed at first--that she "really loved" Isadore, solidified. She had counted on finding it pleasant to take care of him; she had found it so in the city, it proved unexpectedly sweet here in the woods. In New York she had been only an accident; a dozen others could have nursed him just as well. Here she was all he had. Here too she could give all her time to him. He was as helpless as a baby at first, and submitted docilely to her loving tyranny. She had never "kept house" for any one before. In the kitchen of the little cabin--walking about on tiptoe, so as not to disturb his health-bringing sleep--she found a very real delight in the new experience of cooking a meal for her man, in washing and mending his clothes.