He rose while she clung to him; he seemed a little dazed. It was the first time he had ever been thrown, and he could not but feel a certain respect for his opponent, but he could not give way. "Pack up yer duds," he snarled, "an' git off'n my land. I'll have the money fer ye when ye come back. I'll give ye jest five minutes to git clear o' here. Merry, you stay here." The young man saw it was useless to remain, as it would only excite the old man; and so, with a look of apology, not without humor, at Marietta, he went to the house to get his valise. The girl wept silently while the father raged up and down. His mood frightened her. "I thought ye had more sense than t' take up with such a dirty houn'." "He ain't a houn'," she blazed forth, "and he's just as good and clean as you are." "Shut up! Don't let me hear another word out o' your head. I'm boss here yet, I reckon." Lime came out with his valise in his hand. "Good-by, Merry," he said cheerily. She started to go to him, but her father's rough grasp held her. "Set _down_, an' stay there." Lime was going out of the gate. "Here! Come and get y'r money," yelled the old man, extending some bills. "Here's twenty--" "Go to thunder with your money," retorted Lime. "I've had my pay for my month's work." As he said that, he thought of the sunny kitchen and the merry girl, and his throat choked. Good-by to the sweet girl whose smile was so much to him, and to the happy noons and nights her eyes had made for him. He waved his hat at her as he stood in the open gate, and the sun lighted his handsome head into a sort of glory in her eyes. Then he turned and walked rapidly off down the road, not looking back. The girl, when she could no longer see him, dashed away, and, sobbing violently, entered the house. II There was just a suspicion of light in the east, a mere hint of a glow, when Lyman walked cautiously around the corner of the house and tapped at Marietta's window. She was sleeping soundly and did not hear, for she had been restless during the first part of the night. He tapped again, and the girl woke without knowing what woke her. Lyman put the blade of his pocket-knife under the window and raised it a little, and then placed his lips to the crack, and spoke in a sepulchral tone, half groan, half whisper:-- "Merry! Merry Etty!" The dazed girl sat up in bed and listened, while her heart almost stood still. "Merry, it's me--Lime. Come to the winder." The girl hesitated, and Lyman spoke again. "Come, I hain't got much time. This is your last chance t' see me. It's now 'r never." The girl slipped out of bed, and, wrapping herself in a shawl, crept to the window. "Boost on that winder," commanded Lyman. She raised it enough to admit his head, which came just above the sill; then she knelt on the floor by the window. Her eyes stared wide and dark. "Lime, what in the world do you mean--"