Kent and Lydia strolled along the leafy road, with the tang of the autumn in their nostrils, and the blue gleam of the lake in their eyes. It was only a half mile to the Willows and as they turned in, Kent took Lydia's hand and drew it through his arm. "Look," he said, "I believe there is even a little left of our cave, after all this time. What a rough little devil I was in those days. And yet, even then, Lyd, I believe I had an idea of trying to take care of you." "You were not a rough little devil!" exclaimed Lydia, indignantly. "You were a dear! I can never forget what you did for me, when little Patience died." "I was a selfish brute in lots of ways afterward, though," said Kent, moodily. "I didn't have sense enough to appreciate you, to realize--yet, I did in a way. Remember our talks up at camp? Then, of course, we never shall agree on the Indian question. But what does that amount to?" Kent dropped Lydia's hand and faced her. "Lydia, do you care for me--care for me enough to marry me?" Lydia turned pale. Something in her heart began to sing. Something in her brain began to stir, uncomfortably. "Oh, Kent," she began, breathlessly, then paused and the two looked deep into each other's eyes. "Lydia! Lydia!! I need you so!" cried Kent. "You are such a dear, such a pal, so pretty, so sweet--and I need you so! Won't you marry me, Lydia?" He seized both her hands and held them against his cheeks. "I've always loved you dearly, Kent, and yet," faltered Lydia, "and yet, somehow, I don't think we'd ever make each other happy." "Not make each other happy! I'd like to know why not! Just try me, Lydia! Try me!" Kent's charming face was glowing. Into Lydia's contralto voice crept the note that had belonged to little Patience's day. "I'd like to try you, dear if---- Wait, Kent, wait! Let me have my playtime, Kent. I've never had a real one, you know, till now. Let me finish college, then ask me again, will you, Kent?" Kent jerked his head discontentedly. "I think it would be better for us to tie to each other right now. Please, Lydia dear!" Lydia shook her head slowly. "Let me have my playtime, Kent. I don't know that side of myself at all." Kent looked at the lake and at the little cave of long ago and back into the clear tender blue of Lydia's eyes. Then he said softly, "All right, dear! You know best. But will you give me just one kiss,--for remembrance?" "Yes," replied Lydia, lifting her face, and Kent pulled off his cap and kissed the warm, girlish lips, tenderly, lingeringly, then, without a word, gently turned Lydia homeward.