``We've known each other always, Hilda,'' said Otto. ``And we
know all about each other. Why not--dear?''

She did not speak for several minutes.

``You know I haven't any heart to give you,'' she answered at
last.

Otto did not know anything of the kind, but he knew she thought
so, and he was too intelligent to dispute, when time would settle
the question--and, he felt sure, would settle it right. So he
reached out and took her hand and said: ``I'll risk that.''

And they sat watching the waterfall and listening to it, and they
were happy in a serious, tranquil way. It filled him with awe to
think that he had at last won her. As for her, she was looking
forward, without illusions, without regrets, to a life of work
and content beside this strong, loyal, manly man who protested
little, but never failed her or any one else.

On the way home in the train she told her mother, and her mother
told her father. He, then and there, to the great delight and
pleasure of the others in the car, rose up and embraced and
kissed first his daughter, then Otto and then Otto's mother.
And every once in a while he beamed down the line of his party
and said: ``This is a happy day!''

And he made them all come into the sitting-room back of the shop.
``Wait here,'' he commanded. ``No one must move!''