“No, indeed! I would rather see Pioneer Falls! Niagara is too big,” Cis said quickly, catching the significance of his allusion to the conventional bridal-tour point, resolved to keep this day under the glamor of what was to follow it, not to let him speak yet. “Besides, I couldn’t get to the office at nine-thirty from Niagara! Rod, I haven’t seen you to tell you! The code straightened out for me yesterday, just as I knew it would, suddenly, sometime! I’ve got the horrid thing so it will eat out of my hand!” “Good for you! You’re a great one, Holly dear!” Rodney answered, settling back into his chair, following her lead. The train took them through beautiful scenes of farmland, valleys and hills, beside a peaceful river, through small forests, everything, everywhere glowing with October colors, “like Cis,” as Rodney said. Neither Rodney nor Cis were inclined to talk; it was too beautiful for comment, too sacred for small talk, this lovely setting of their romance, also rapidly nearing its destination. Pioneer Falls was the name of the station. Rodney picked up his basket and preceded Cis to a small motor car, billeted: “For hire,” which took them to the falls. Here they climbed steep paths, and descended long, narrow steps, to see the falls from above and below, hushed by the wild and solemn beauty of their setting, chilled by the evaporation of their heavy waters, the dense shade of their surrounding pines and hemlocks. “It’s not half-bad to get into a dining room after all that, is it, Holly?” asked Rodney when they had seated themselves at a small table tête-à-tête, and the waiter had withdrawn, after sending Cis’s blood to her hair by asking whether “Madame would take lettuce, endive, or salade Romaine?” “It’s not the smallest fraction bad, Rod,” replied Cis, grateful to him for not taking advantage of the waiter’s mistake. “And I’m ravenous in spite of your lunch!” Over the demi-tasse at the end of dinner Rodney lighted a cigarette and smoked silently, scrutinizing Cis. “What?” she asked him, looking up to catch his gaze. “I was wondering if you didn’t think that it had been better, wiser, more natural, after all, to come off with me, when we like so much to be together, without going to church? Don’t you honestly think, little Holly-Cis, that we hallow this day?” he promptly answered. “Well, Rod, I’ve been perfectly happy,” Cis answered. “I suppose, maybe, once in a way--” She stopped. “Funny you brought that up,” she went on. “I’ve been thinking ever since that day of what you said. What catechism was it, Rod, that you studied? What are you?” “The penny catechism, my dear; Third Plenary Council of Baltimore, I believe they said it was. Who made you, et cetera,” replied Rodney. “Catholic? Are you a Catholic?” cried Cis. “Now, Holly, do I look it, or act it?” demanded Rodney. “No, my dear; I’m nothing, but they did start me on the same catechism you had; my people are all Catholics.” “Left the Church?” Cis looked startled.