“Well,” he said, as the smoke curled about them, “knowing you as _I_ know you, and _all_ of you, all I can say is that I’m sorry for Sonny for what he’s missed—awfully sorry for him, but equally glad for me. And . . . one other thing: five years hence I’ve something to tell you, something rich, something ridiculously rich, and all about me and the foolishness of me over you. Five years. Is it a date?” “I shall keep it if it is fifty years,” she sighed, as she nestled closer to him. GLEN ELLEN, CALIFORNIA. _August_ 17, 1916. FOOTNOTES {107} See Dibble’s “_A History of the Sandwich Islands_.”