“Say, isn't this great!” he exclaimed, as they entered the attic. “Trunks, cobwebs, and old furniture! Why have I never been here before?” “It wasn't proper,” replied Ruth, primly, with a sidelong glance at him. “No, go away!” They dragged the furniture out into the middle of the room and looked it over critically. There was all that she had described, and unsuspected treasure lay in concealment behind it. “There's almost enough to furnish a flat!” she cried, in delight. He was opening the drawers of a cabinet, which stood far back under the eaves. “What's this, Ruth?” “Oh, it's old blue china--willow pattern! How rich we are!” “Is old blue willow-pattern china considered beautiful?” “Of course it is, you goose! We'll have to have our dining-room done in old blue, now, with a shelf on the wall for these plates.” “Why can't we have a red dining-room?” “Because it would be a fright. You can have a red den, if you like.” “All right,” he answered, “but it seems to me it would be simpler and save a good deal of expense, if we just pitched the plates into the sad sea. I don't think much of 'em.” “That's because you're not educated, dearest,” returned Ruth, sweetly. “When you're married, you'll know a great deal more about china--you see if you don't.” They lingered until it was so dark that they could scarcely see each other's faces. “We'll come up again to-morrow,” she said. “Wait a minute.” She groped over to the east window, where there was still a faint glow, and lighted the lamp, which stood in its accustomed place, newly filled. “You're not going to leave it burning, are you?” he asked. “Yes, Aunt Jane has a light in this window every night.” “Why, what for?” “I don't know, dearest. I think it's for a lighthouse, but I don't care. Come, let's go downstairs.” XIV. “For Remembrance” The next day, while Ruth was busily gathering up her few belongings and packing her trunk, Winfield appeared with a suggestion regarding the advisability of outdoor exercise. Uncle James stood at the gate and watched them as they went down hill. He was a pathetic old figure, predestined to loneliness under all circumstances. “That's the way I'll look when we've been married a few years,” said Carl. “Worse than that,” returned Ruth, gravely. “I'm sorry for you, even now.” “You needn't be proud and haughty just because you've had a wedding at your house--we're going to have one at ours.” “At ours?” “At the 'Widder's,' I mean, this very evening.” “That's nice,” answered Ruth, refusing to ask the question. “It's Joe and Hepsey,” he continued, “and I thought perhaps you might stoop low enough to assist me in selecting an appropriate wedding gift in yonder seething mart. I feel greatly indebted to them.”