Blue-Bird Weather

* * * * *

It was almost dawn when they returned. Marche's hand lay lightly on

Courtney's shoulder for a moment, as they parted.

Above, as Courtney stood feeling blindly for his door, Molly's door

swung softly ajar, and the girl came out in her night-dress.

"Father," she whispered, "is it all right?"

"All right, thank God, little daughter."

"And--I may care for him?"

"Surely--surely, darling, because he is the finest specimen of manhood

that walks this merciless earth."

"I knew it," she whispered gaily. "If you'll lend me your wrapper a

moment, I'll go to his door and say good-night to him again."

Her father looked at her, picked up his tattered dressing-gown from his

bed, and wrapped her in it to the chin, then kissed her forehead.

So she trotted away to Marche's door and tapped softly; and when he

came and opened the door, she put her arms around his neck and kissed

him.

"Good night," she whispered. "I do love you, and I shall pray all night

that I may be everything that you would wish to have me. Good night,

once more--dearest of men--good night."