Junior was not particularly grateful. There had been set before him, all his life, more excellent food than his stomach could hold. The delicacies that would have been a great treat to any of the other boys, were no particular treat to Junior; while he was sufficiently his father’s son to allow the Spellmans to see that he was not deeply impressed. He picked over the food in a listless manner and ate very little either of the cream or the cake. In truth, he was sorely surprised and disappointed over the intrusion of the little gold bird on an occasion when he had reckoned on carrying off the honours with greater ease than usual. He was slightly older than Mahala and his brain was working with undue rapidity. He knew every one in Ashwater whom he chose to know—where had he seen birds being raised? In those days linnet and canary culture was extremely common. Almost every one had the tiny domestic singers in their homes. Brooding about the bird made him cross and sullen as he always was when he was thwarted. Watching her mother’s efforts to placate Junior, Mahala did some rapid thinking on her own part. She decided that if he left the house feeling better, there would be fewer objections on the part of her parents to her keeping the bird. She followed Junior to the hall door, then stepped on the veranda with him, where she stood for an instant in the moonlight. The night was October at its most luring period. Natural conditions, not Junior, were responsible for the fact that she went down the front steps beside him, swung open the gate herself, then stood back that he might step through. As she closed it, she paused a moment longer, looking around her. The lure of the night air, of gaudy foliage wonderful in the white light, was upon her. She said to Junior: “Did you ever see a more entrancing night?” But Junior leaned across the gate, caught her by the shoulders, and roughly demanded: “Which of the fellows sent that bird to you?” Mahala’s lithe body straightened under his fingers. She had been carefully bred all her life; she thoroughly understood that her parents expected her not to antagonize Junior. So she said, very simply: “I don’t know. Some friend of Father or Mother, maybe.” Junior’s hands gripped tighter. Suddenly he was saying in a hoarse voice that sounded as if he were going to cry very shortly: “I want you to understand that you are my girl, and when we finish school, we are going to be married!” Mahala attempted to draw back, crying: “No! No, Junior! What foolishness! We are nothing but children.” But Junior tightened his grasp, and drawing her toward him, he leaned over and kissed her.