"Coyotes," I corrected. "Well, that's almost as bad. Anyway, I'm not used to being alone at night. I wonder if--well, if you'd let me sleep on the floor in here with you tonight?" When Grant came out of the bathroom I explained the situation to him, and he set up the rollaway bed in our living room for the bride to sleep on. Toward morning I heard muffled sobbing, as she apparently held the pillow against her face to avoid making too much noise. I stirred, and she whispered, "Are you awake?" When I whispered back that I was, she lost control of herself, and began to sob audibly. "For months," she wailed, "I've been dreaming about my wedding night, imagining it, trying to picture how it would be, but--ooh!--I never thought it would be like this!" In the morning the wandering groom came back to claim his bride, and the marriage probably got off to a good start in spite of that first minor catastrophe. To avoid any possibility of Jill's becoming a dull girl, I frequently go shopping or visiting when things at the motel are well enough under control for Grant to manage without me. I don't like the idea of going places alone, but it's better than staying home night after night. When I go shopping, though, I am very glad that Grant cannot be with me. He seldom approves of the occasional frivolous purchases I make, and never makes any attempt to conceal his opinion from salespersons, customers, passersby, and whomever else it doesn't concern in the least. One time when a new little curio shop opened in Banning, I browsed happily and thoroughly through it, and finally selected a small item made of what looked like beautiful, glossy petrified wood. It was shaped like an hour glass, with mysterious strings and turrets. It was a bargain, I thought, at three dollars. Grant didn't see it that way, though. "But what's it for?" he demanded. "What is it?" I don't see how anyone with such a prosaic, practical nature can get much joy out of life. I couldn't figure out, myself, what the thing was for, though, so I set it on top of the bookcase beside Mr. Hawkins' nude perfume atomizer. "It's an ornament, of course," I told Grant haughtily.