“I know; but Aunt Hannah said that even if I never expected to cook, myself, I ought to know how it was done, so to properly oversee it. She said that--that no woman, who didn't know how to cook and keep house properly, had any business to be a wife. And, Bertram, I did try, honestly, all this week. I tried so hard to remember when you sponged bread and when you kneaded it.” “I don't ever need--_yours_,” cut in Bertram, shamelessly; but he got only a deservedly stern glance in return. “And I repeated over and over again how many cupfuls of flour and pinches of salt and spoonfuls of baking-powder went into things; but, Bertram, I simply could not keep my mind on it. Everything, everywhere was singing to me. And how do you suppose I could remember how many pinches of flour and spoonfuls of salt and cupfuls of baking-powder went into a loaf of cake when all the while the very teakettle on the stove was singing: 'It's all right--Bertram loves me--I'm going to marry Bertram!'?” “You darling!” (In spite of the man across the aisle Bertram did almost kiss her this time.) “As if anybody cared how many cupfuls of baking-powder went anywhere--with that in your heart!” “Aunt Hannah says you will--when you're hungry. And Kate said--” Bertram uttered a sharp word behind his teeth. “Billy, for heaven's sake don't tell me what Kate said, if you want me to stay sane, and not attempt to fight somebody--broken arm, and all. Kate _thinks_ she's kind, and I suppose she means well; but--well, she's made trouble enough between us already. I've got you now, sweetheart. You're mine--all mine--” his voice shook, and dropped to a tender whisper--“'till death us do part.'” “Yes; 'till death us do part,'” breathed Billy. And then, for a time, they fell silent. “'I, Bertram, take thee, Billy,'” sang the whirring wheels beneath them, to one. “'I, Billy, take thee, Bertram,'” sang the whirring wheels beneath them, to the other. While straight ahead before them both, stretched fair and beautiful in their eyes, the wondrous path of life which they were to tread together. CHAPTER II. FOR WILLIAM--A HOME On the first Sunday after the wedding Pete came up-stairs to tell his master, William, that Mrs. Stetson wanted to see him in the drawing-room. William went down at once. “Well, Aunt Hannah,” he began, reaching out a cordial hand. “Why, what's the matter?” he broke off concernedly, as he caught a clearer view of the little old lady's drawn face and troubled eyes. “William, it's silly, of course,” cried Aunt Hannah, tremulously, “but I simply had to go to some one. I--I feel so nervous and unsettled! Did--did Billy say anything to you--what she was going to do?” “What she was going to do? About what? What do you mean?” “About the house--selling it,” faltered Aunt Hannah, sinking wearily back into her chair. William frowned thoughtfully.