She had pictured to herself, also, how much they would be together and where; how he would come to Aunt Comfort's the first evening and tell all about his winter in the wilderness and Old Cy,--all about the trap-setting, gum-gathering, and the deep snows she knew so much about. Maybe he would bring his banjo now and then and play and sing the darky songs she had hummed so many times. Possibly he might come and meet her occasionally on the way home from school; and when vacation came, how many long rambles they would take in the dear old woods, with no such ogre as the half-breed to spoil them. It had all been a rosy-hued dream with her, while she waited his coming. And now he was here! For the first few moments after he kissed her upraised lips, she could not speak for very joy; and then, as hand in hand they started toward the village, her speech came. "I've been so lonesome," she said simply, "I've counted the days, and come down here to meet you daily, for over a month. I don't like it here, and nobody likes me, I guess. I'm so glad you've come, though. Now I shan't be lonesome no more. I've studied hard, too," she added, with an accent of pride. "I can read and spell words of six syllables. I've ciphered up to decimal fractions, an' begun grammar." "I'm glad to get home, too," answered Ray, as simply. "It was lonesome in the woods all winter, when we couldn't tend the traps. But I've made a lot of money--'most five hundred dollars--all mine, too. How is everybody?" And so they dropped from sentiment into commonplace. At the tavern he secured his belongings. At the corner where their ways parted, he bade Chip a light good-by, and with an "I'll see you soon," left her. Her hero had arrived. They had met, kissed as lovers should, and the lonely waiting and watching days were at an end and a new life was to begin for Chip. Little did she realize what it would mean for her, or how utterly her hopes were to fail. "He will come to-night," her heart assured her, and that evening, without a word to Aunt Comfort or Hannah as to whom she expected, she arrayed herself in her one best dress and awaited his expected visit. And what a propitious and all-favoring evening it was! The June night was balmy. Blooming lilacs and syringas half hid, as well as adorned, the porch of Aunt Comfort's home. Aunt Comfort had just departed to make a call, Hannah was away at prayer meeting, and "no one nigh to hinder." But Chip waited in vain! The drowsy hum of the Mizzy Falls, up the village street, came to her; the fireflies twinkled amid the dense-growing maples and over the broad meadows; whippoorwills called across the valley; but no lover came to Chip. One, two, almost three hours she waited and watched. Then came Aunt Comfort and Hannah, and heavy-hearted and lonesome once more, poor Chip retired.