“For one thing,” he returned, “I cannot risk the danger to you. After all, as long as I am living, there is a chance that my identity will be discovered, and you--no, no; I must not!” “As for that,” she answered quickly, “the chances of your being identified are a thousand times greater if you go into the world again too soon. Some day, of course, you must go; but you are safer now right here. And”--she added quickly--“it would be no easier for me, dear boy, to--to--have it happen somewhere away from me. You are mine, you know, no matter where you go.” “But, Auntie Sue,” he protested, “I am not a gentleman of means that I can do nothing indefinitely; neither am I capable of living upon your hospitality for an extended period. I must earn my bread and butter.” The final sentence came with such a lifting of his head, such a look of stern decision, and such an air of pride, that the gentle old school-teacher laughed until her eyes were filled with tears; and Judy, at the crack in the kitchen door, wondered if the mistress of the little log house by the river were losing her mind. “Oh, Brian! Brian!” cried Auntie Sue, wiping her eyes. “I knew you would come to the 'bread and butter' at last. That is where all our philosophies and reasonings and arguments come at last, don't they? Just 'bread and butter,' that is all. And I love you for it. Of course you can't live upon my hospitality,--and I couldn't let you if you would. And if you WOULD, I wouldn't let you if I could. I am no more a lady of means, my haughty sir, than you are a gentleman of independent fortune. The fact is, Brian, dear, I suspect that you and I are about the two poorest people in the world,--to be anything like as pretentiously respectable and properly proud as we are.” When the man could make no reply, but only looked at her with a much-puzzled and still-proud expression, she continued, half-laughingly, but well pleased with him: “Please, Brian, don't look so haughtily injured. I had no intention of insulting you by offering charity. Far from it.” Instantly, the man's face changed. He put out his hands protestingly, and his blue eyes filled, as he said, impulsively. “Auntie Sue, after what you have done for me, I--” She answered quickly: “We are considering the future. What has been, is past. Our river is already far beyond that point in its journey. Don't let us try to turn the waters back. I promise you I am going to be very, very practical, and make you pay for EVERYTHING.” Smiling, now, he waited for her to explain. “I must tell you, first,” she began, “that, except for a very small amount in the--in a savings bank, I have nothing to provide for my last days except this little farm.” “What a shame,” Brian Kent exclaimed, “that a woman like you can give her life to the public schools for barely enough salary to keep her alive during her active years, and then left in her old age with no means of support. It is a national disgrace.”