The honeymoon slipped away as do all honeymoons, and one crisp, cool December day a lumbering country stage containing two passengers struggled up a steep hill and stopped before a long, rambling building nearing completion. All about were piles of partly used lumber, broken bundles of shingles, empty barrels, and abandoned mortar beds. Straight from the low slanting roof with its queer gables, rose a curl of blue smoke, telling of comfort and cheer within. Back of it towered huge trees, and away off in the distance swept a broad valley hazy in the morning light. “Oh, Jack--what a love!” cried one passenger--she had alighted with a spring, her cheeks aglow with the bracing mountain air, and was standing taking it all in. “And, oh--see the porch!--and the darling windows and the dear little panes of glass! And, Jack--” she had reached the open door now, and was sweeping her eyes around the interior--“Oh!--oh!--what a fireplace!--and such ducky little shelves--and the flowers, and the table and the big easy chairs and rugs! ISN'T it lovely!!” And then the two, hand in hand, stepped inside and shut the door. THE END. End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Peter, by F. Hopkinson Smith