Katie, flushed and triumphant, sank beside him, and busied herself with the task of straightening her big black hat. Hermann watched her in frank admiration as she sat there, her arms raised to her head, in that pose which, of all others, is the most becoming to her sex. "What are you lookin' at?" she archly wondered, casting a smiling, sidelong, blue glance at him. But before her the strong man was a timid child. "Ad de brettiest bicture in a whole vorld," he stammered. Katie laughed again. "Och," she said in gratified disapproval, "there sure must be a Castle Blarney somewhere on the Rhine. What favor are you wantin' to ask me now, I wonder." Once he had started, Hermann was too dogged thus to be retarded. "It's chust de same old fafor," he pleaded, as, with a great creaking of brakes, the train began to swing upon the Bridge. "Now I god my new tshob, Katie, there gan't for nod hafin' our veddin' be no good reason, gan dere?" "There's one," she said, still delighting in her coquetry; "there's one reason." "Vat is 't?" "Its name is Father Kelly." "Katie, you von't led dot gount!" "I will so." "Und I haf to gome into your church, und--und all dem d'ings?" "You do that." Hermann squirmed; but he knew of old that from this point she was neither to be persuaded nor driven. It was a discussion that they had held many a time before, and every time she would give him no answer to his suit until he should surrender in this particular. Now, however, he considered himself about to set foot upon the highroad to prosperity, and the prosperous can ill afford to skimp magnanimity. "_All_ righd," he at last somewhat ruefully conceded, though with certain mental reservations into which it seemed then unnecessary to enter: "I'm a strong von, und hof stood a lot a'ready, so I t'ink I gan stand dot too. I'll do it." He took her by surprise. "Promise?" she asked. "Sure I bromise." "No backin' out whatever happens?" "No packin' oud." "Well, God bless you then." There was a catch in her voice as she said it. Into her lonely, hardworking life, this strong, soft-hearted, poor and cheerful German had brought about all the sunshine that she had latterly known, and she could think of nothing better than to give him the answer that he was so honestly anxious to hear. But, though he had become more and more to her from the first evening when he had seized her as she was falling from the platform of a surface-car that had started too quickly on its way, she had seen enough of the warfare with poverty in her own family to resolve that she would not marry until she could contribute her share to the wages of the resulting household, and now she had neither a position nor the immediate likelihood of obtaining one. It was hard, but she was used to hardship, and so, because she must not cry, she smiled. Hermann tried to grasp her hand, but she easily eluded him. "Den, vhen do ve say?" he eagerly demanded.