'Oh, she was all right. Asked me a lot about the governor. Said Vicki's ancestors had fought with the snake in the Garden of Eden, or somebody far back like that--ancient lineage, you know--son-in-law must be impressed. I told her I didn't think my old man would make any serious objection to that. 'To what?' she called out, looking quite scared--they seem frightfully anxious to please the governor. 'He don't like ancestors,' said I. 'Ain't got any himself and don't hold with 'em.' She pretended she was smilin', and said she supposed my father was an original. 'Well,' said I, goin' strong for once in the wit line, 'anyhow he's not an aboriginal like Vicki's lot seem to have been.' Pretty good that, eh? Seemed to stun 'em. Then the son came in and shook both my hands for about half an hour and talked a terrific lot of German and was more pleased about it than any one else, as far as I could see. And then--well, that's about all. So I pulled off my little game rather neatly, what?' 'Yes, if it was your little game,' said I, with a faint stress on the your. 'Whose else should it be?' he asked, looking at me open-mouthed. 'Vicki is a little darling,' was my prudent reply, 'and I congratulate you with all my heart. Really I am more delighted about this than I can remember ever being about anything--more purely delighted, without the least shadow on my honest pleasure.' And all Joey vouchsafed as a reward for my ebullition of real feeling was the information that he considered me quite a decent sort. So you see we are very happy up on the Galgenberg just now; the lovers like a pair of beaming babies, Frau von Lindeberg, sobered by the shock of her good fortune into the gentle kindliness that so often follows in the wake of a sudden great happiness, Papa Lindeberg warmed out of his tortoise-in-the-sun condition into much busy letter-writing, and Vicki's brother so uproariously pleased that I can only conclude him to be the possessor of many debts which he proposes to cause Joey to pay. Life is very thrilling when Love beats his wings so near. There has been a great writing to Joey's father, and Papa too has written, at my dictation, a letter rosy with the glow of Vicki's praises. Joey thinks his father will shortly appear to inspect the Lindebergs. He seems to have no fears of parental objections. 'He's all right, my old man is,' he says confidently when I probe him on the point; adding just now to this invariable reply, 'And look here, Miss Schmidt, Vicki's all right too, you see, so what's the funk about?' 'I don't know,' said I; and I didn't even after I had secretly looked in the dictionary, for it was empty of any explanation of the word funk. Yours, deeply interested in life and lovers, ROSE-MARIE SCHMIDT. LXV Galgenberg, Dec. 31st.