"Meanwhile, I am to go on plodding through classes and camp without knowing whether or not I am ever going to be rewarded!" grumbled John, so discouraged that every one felt sorry for him. "One doesn't plod through studies or work, for mere reward. Polly says she wants to study for the love of it, and Eleanor wants to go into business for the love of _that_! It is the only way one can succeed," ventured Mrs. Brewster, more to fill up an embarrassing gap in the conversation than for anything else. John turned sullenly and stamped away. He continued down the trail to the Cliffs and was soon lost to sight. The girls then coaxed Anne to come away with them as they had a plan to ask her about. Mrs. Brewster waited until every one was gone his or her way, then she ran after her son. No one knows what was said or done, then or during the day but that night, as they all sat at supper, John stood up and smiled. Jeb was just passing with a basket of newly laid eggs, and Sary was leaning over Mr. Brewster's back with a deep dish of milk-toast that she expected to place before him. John coughed significantly, and Sary stopped to listen. "I'm going to announce good news to you-all, to-night. I finally persuaded Anne to promise to be my wife, someday. So she goes to New York City as my fiancee, and I will study hard and do everything possible to be worthy of her, for she is a brave girl!" Sam Brewster half arose to congratulate the two young people, but Sary's dish was in the way. He bumped his head and the dish slid from her hands. Sary threw up both hands in dismay--there was the milk-toast spattered all over the ground! But a laugh from her mistress caused her to look in the direction the family-group were gazing. She saw Jeb standing as if rooted to the grass, his lower jaw sagging as he frowned at a basket of broken eggs upon the ground. Sary threw her inspiration into the double breach caused by maid and man. "Thar goes th' supper an' them eggs, but tush! Trifles don't count none when a man hez sech fine news ez John an' Jeb hes. Come right over here, Jeb, an' spring _yur_ secret now that John hes split his'n to the fam'ly!" Jeb scuffled his feet and sheepishly hung his head. One foot unconsciously stirred the yolks of the broken eggs. But Sary was not a woman to stand for such shyness when it cast reflections on her ardent manner in which she described how Jeb rose to the bait temptingly hung before his very nose. She forgot milk-toast and all else in this final bout with her unwilling lover. She hurried over and nudged him sharply in the ribs, then whispered in a stage tone: "G'wan now, Jeb! Spruce up an' tell 'em like-ez-how this air goin' to be a double trick! John an' Miss Anne, me an' you--see!"