Bob's fresh, untrained voice sounded sweet and clear on the night
air, and to Betty's surprise, tears came unbidden into her eyes. She
was not given to analysis.

"Moonlight always makes me want to cry," she murmured, dashing the
drops from her eyes. "I hope Bob will look up and know that I'm at
the window. I don't dare call to him."

But Bob, who had stopped singing while still some distance from the
house, clattered straight to the barn.

Betty hurried over to her lamp, lit it, and set it on the window sill.

"He'll see it from the barn," she argued wisely, "and know that I am
not asleep."

Her reasoning proved correct, for in a few minutes a well-known
whistle sounded below her window. She blew out the light and leaned
out.

"Oh, Betty!" Bob's tone was one of repressed excitement. "I've got
something great to tell you."

"Have you had any supper?" demanded Betty, more concerned with that
question than with any news. "I've something for you, if you're
hungry."

"Hungry? Gee, I'm starved!" was the response. "I didn't dare stop to
ask for a meal anywhere, because I knew I'd be late getting home as