"Well, Perry," I said, "you did give me a surprise. I didn't know it, and, to tell the truth, was taken back a bit, for it hurt me here." I imitated his effective waistcoat-pocket gesture, which caused him much amusement. "I had hopes myself--you know that, and as I neither fiddled nor recited poetry your own conclusions may be wrong." "But Tim didn't do nothin'," Perry cackled. "He just goes away and lets her pine. When he comes back she falls right into his arms and gazes up into his eyes, and--" Perry stopped rocking and looked into the fire. "You know, Mark," he said after a pause, "it must be nice not to be disappointed." "It must be very nice," said I, smoking harder than ever. "That's what I said to myself as I looked in the window and seen them." "You looked in the window--you peeped!" I fairly shouted, making a hostile demonstration with a crutch. "Why, yes" said Perry, looking hurt that I should question his action in the least. "I didn't mean to. Comin' from over the ridge I passed Warden's and thought I'd stop in and warm up and see how Weston was. So I stepped light along the porch, not wantin' to disturb him, and seein' a light in the room, I looked in before I knocked. But I never knocked, for I says to myself, 'I'll hurry down and tell Mark; it'll please him.'" [Illustration: "And seein' a light in the room, I looked in."] "And you saw Tim and Mary," said I. "I should say I did," said Perry, "till I slipped away. But says I to myself, 'It must be nice not to be disappointed.'" "You said you saw Tim and Mary," said I, a trifle angrily. "I should say I did," Perry answered, chuckling and rocking again on his feet. "The two of 'em, standin' there in the lamplight by the table, him a-lookin' down like he was dyin', her a-lookin' up like she was dyin' and holdin' on to him like he was all there was left for her in the world. It made me swaller, Mark, it made me swaller." There was a lump in Perry's throat at that moment, and he stopped his rocking and turned to the fire, so his back was toward me. "Of course you knocked," said I, after a silence. "Of course I didn't," he snapped. "Do you suppose I was wanted then? 'No, sir,' I says, 'for them there is only two people in all the world--there's Tim and there's Mary.'" Perry was putting on his overcoat, winding his long comforter about his neck and drawing on his mittens. "To tell the truth," he said, with a forced laugh, "I don't feel as chipper as I usually do under such like circumstances. It seems to me you ain't so chipper as you might be, either, Mark." "Good-night, Perry," I said, smoking very hard. "Good-night," he answered. At the door he paused and gazed at me. "Say, Mark," he said, "them two was just intended for one another--you know it--I see you know it. God picked 'em out for one another. I know it. You know it, too. But it's hard not to be picked yourself--ain't it?" Tim's minute! God keep me from such another!