While Liva, with housewifely hands, put away the lunch things in their basket, Timothy nibbled along lengths of grass and hugged his knees and gloomed at the locket. It was then that Miggy and Peter passed them and the four greeted one another with the delicate, sheepish enjoyment of lovers who look on and understand other lovers. Then Timothy's look went back to Liva. Liva's rose-pink dress was cut distractingly without a collar, and the chain seemed to caress her little throat. Moreover, the locket had a way of hiding beneath a fold of ruffle, as if it were _her_ locket and as if Timothy had no share in it. "Oh," cried Liva, "_Timmie_! That was the lion roared. Did you hear?" Timothy nodded darkly, as if there were worse than lions. "Wasn't it the lion?" she insisted. Timothy nodded again; he thought it might have been the lion. "What you so glum about, Timmie?" his sweetheart asked, glancing at him fleetingly. Timothy flushed to the line of his hair. "Gosh," he said, "this here pasture looks so differ'nt I can't get over it." "Yes," said Liva, "it does look differ'nt, don't it?" Before one o'clock they drifted with the rest toward the animal tent. They went incuriously past the snake show, the Eats-'em-alive show, and the Eastern vaudeville. But hard by the red wagon where tickets were sold Timothy halted spellbound. What he had heard was:-- "Types. Types. Right this way AND in this direction for Types. No, Ladies, and no, Gents: Not Tin-types. But Photo-types. Photo_graphs_ put up in Tintype style AT Tintype price. Three for a quarter. The fourth of a dozen for the fourth of a dollar. Elegant pictures, elegant finish, refined, up-to-date. Of yourself, Gents, of yourself. Or of any one you see around you. And WHILE you wait." Timothy said it before he had any idea that he meant to say it:-- "Liva," he begged, "come on. You." When she understood and when Timothy saw the momentary abashment in her eyes, it is certain that he had never loved her more. But the very next moment she was far more adorable. "Not unless you will, Timmie," she said, "and trade." He followed her into the hot little tent as if the waiting chair were a throne of empire. And perhaps it was. For presently Timothy had in his pocket a tiny blurry bit of paper at which he had hardly dared so much as glance, and he had given another blurry bit into her keeping. But that was not all. When she thanked him she had met his eyes. And he thought--oh, no matter what he thought. But it was as if there were established a throne of empire with Timothy lord of his world.