Ernie across the road watched him with eyes in which affection and amusement mingled. Then the door opened, and the scholar-penitent-youth was being greeted with glee by Bess Trupp. Ernie turned to his wife. "My old Colonel," he said confidentially. "What I was in India with. Best Colonel the Hammer-men ever had--and that's saying something." "Colonel Lewknor, aren't it?" asked Ruth. "That's him," said Ernie keenly. "Do you knaw him?" "He was over at Auston last summer," answered Ruth, "lecturin we got to fight Germany or something. I went, but I didn't pay no heed to him. No account talk, I call that." Together they dropped down Borough Lane and turned to the left along the Moot where dwelt the workers of Old Town--a few in flint cottages set in gardens, rank with currant bushes, a record of the days, not so long ago, when corn flowed down both sides of Water Lane, making a lake of gold between the village on the hill and the Sea-houses by the Wish; and most in the new streets of little red houses that looked up, pathetically aware of their commonness, to the calm dignity of the old church upon the Kneb above. At one of these latter Ernie stopped and made believe to fumble with a key. Ruth, who had not seen her new home, was thrilling quietly, as she had been throughout the journey, though determined not to betray her emotion to her mate. The door opened and they entered. A charming voice from the kitchen greeted them. "Ah, there you are--punctual to the minute!" A woman, silver-haired and gracious, turned from deft busy-ness at the range. "Oh, Mrs. Trupp!" cried Ruth, looking about her. The table was laid already, and gay with flowers; the fire lit, the kettle on the boil, the supper ready. "It is kind," said Ruth. "Was this you and Miss Bess?" "Perhaps we had a hand in it," laughed the other. "She couldn't be here, as she's got a meeting of her Boy Scouts. But she sent her best wishes. Now I hand over the key to the master; and my responsibilities are over!" And she was gone with the delicious ripple of laughter Ernie had loved from babyhood. Ruth was now thirsting to explore her new home, but Ernie insisted on supping first. This he did with malicious deliberation. When at length he was satisfied they went upstairs together, he leading the way. "This is our room!" he said with ill-disguised complacency, stepping aside. The bridal chamber was swept and garnished. In it were more flowers, bowls of them; and the furniture simple, solid, and very good, was of a character rarely found in houses of that class. Ernie enjoyed the obvious pleasure of his bride as she touched and glanced and dipped like some large bird flitting gracefully from piece to piece. Then she paused solemnly and looked about her. "Reckon it must ha cost a tidy penny," she said. "It did," Ernie answered. She cocked a soft brown eye at him. "Could you afford it, Ernie?" "I could not," said Ernie, standing grimly and with folded arms.