“Silly,” she said, tracing them gently with her finger tips, “I love every one of them, too,” and she leaned over and kissed them. “We're going to be happy each and every day, and all day long! We'll live at the Gap in winter and I'll teach.” “No, you won't.” “Then I'll teach _you_ to be patient and how little I care for anything else in the world while I've got you, and I'll teach you to care for nothing else while you've got me. And you'll have me, dear, forever and ever----” “Amen,” said Hale. Something rang out in the darkness, far down the river, and both sprang to their feet. “It's Uncle Billy!” cried June, and she lifted the old horn to her lips. With the first blare of it, a cheery halloo answered, and a moment later they could see a gray horse coming up the road--coming at a gallop, and they went down to the gate and waited. “Hello, Uncle Billy” cried June. The old man answered with a fox-hunting yell and Hale stepped behind a bush. “Jumping Jehosophat--is that you, June? Air ye all right?” “Yes, Uncle Billy.” The old man climbed off his horse with a groan. “Lordy, Lordy, Lordy, but I was skeered!” He had his hands on June's shoulders and was looking at her with a bewildered face. “What air ye doin' here alone, baby?” June's eyes shone: “Nothing Uncle Billy.” Hale stepped into sight. “Oh, ho! I see! You back an' he ain't gone! Well, bless my soul, if this ain't the beatenest--” he looked from the one to the other and his kind old face beamed with a joy that was but little less than their own. “You come back to stay?” “My--where's that horn? I want it right now, Ole Hon down thar is a-thinkin' she's gone crazy and I thought she shorely was when she said she heard you blow that horn. An' she tol' me the minute I got here, if hit was you--to blow three times.” And straightway three blasts rang down the river. “Now she's all right, if she don't die o' curiosity afore I git back and tell her why you come. Why did you come back, baby? Gimme a drink o' water, son. I reckon me an' that ole hoss hain't travelled sech a gait in five year.” June was whispering something to the old man when Hale came back, and what it was the old man's face told plainly. “Yes, Uncle Billy--right away,” said Hale. “Just as soon as you can git yo' license?” Hale nodded. “An' June says I'm goin' to do it.” “Yes,” said Hale, “right away.” Again June had to tell the story to Uncle Billy that she had told to Hale and to answer his questions, and it was an hour before the old miller rose to go. Hale called him then into June's room and showed him a piece of paper. “Is it good now?” he asked. The old man put on his spectacles, looked at it and chuckled: “Just as good as the day you got hit.” “Well, can't you----” “Right now! Does June know?” “Not yet. I'm going to tell her now. June!” he called. “Yes, dear.” Uncle Billy moved hurriedly to the door. “You just wait till I git out o' here.” He met June in the outer room.