By now the daylight had gone, and on the ships the riding lights were shining, but shining sulkily, for the harvest moon filled the world with golden radiance. As we stood on the porch of the empty cottage, in the shadow of the honeysuckles, Polly asked an impossible question. It was: “How MUCH do you love me?” “You will never know,” I told her, “but I can tell you this: I love you more than a two-thousand-ton yacht, the interest on one million dollars, and Harbor Castle!” It was a wasteful remark, for Polly instantly drew away. “What DO you mean?” she laughed. “Fletcher Farrell of Harbor Castle,” I explained, “offered me those things, minus you. But I wanted you.” “I see,” cried Polly, “he wanted to adopt you. He always talks of that. I am sorry for him. He wants a son so badly.” She sighed softly, “Poor uncle!” “Poor WHAT!” I yelled. “Didn't you know,” exclaimed Polly, “that Mrs. Farrell was a Briggs! She was my father's sister.” “Then YOU,” I said, “are the relation who was 'too high and mighty'!” Polly shook her head. “No,” she said, “I didn't want to be dependent.” “And you gave up all that,” I exclaimed, “and worked at Hatchardson's, just because you didn't want to be dependent!” “I like my uncle-in-law very much,” explained Polly, “but not my aunt. So, it was no temptation. No more,” she cried, looking at me as though she were proud of me, “than it was to you.” In guilty haste I changed the subject. In other words, I kissed her. I knew some day I would have to confess. But until we were safely married that could wait. Before confessing I would make sure of her first. The next day we announced our engagement and Polly consented that it should be a short one. For, as I pointed out, already she had kept me waiting thirty years. The newspapers dug up the fact that I had once been a popular novelist, and the pictures they published of Polly proved her so beautiful that, in congratulation, I received hundreds of telegrams. The first one to arrive came from Cape May. It read: My dear boy, your uncle elect sends his heartiest congratulations to you and love to Polly. Don't make any plans until you hear from me--am leaving to-night. FLETCHER FARRELL. In terror Polly fled into my arms. Even when NOT in terror it was a practice I strongly encouraged. “We are lost!” she cried. “They will adopt us in spite of ourselves. They will lock us up for life in Harbor Castle! I don't WANT to be adopted. I want YOU! I want my little cottage!” I assured her she should have her little cottage; I had already bought it. And during the two weeks before the wedding, when I was not sitting around Boston while Polly bought clothes, we refurnished it. Polly furnished the library, chiefly with my own books, and “The Log of the JOLLY POLLY.” I furnished the kitchen. For a man cannot live on honeysuckles alone. My future uncle-in-law was gentle but firm.