“Did you ask him, Bennie? But it is not because your pay is raised——”
“I know that, Dora. But, you know, I would not want you until I could take good care of you. So, if it wasn’t for the wages, why did you promise, Dora?”
“I promised because I love you, Bennie,” said Dora, simply and sweetly, at the same time holding out both her hands, which Bennie took and held; and then, growing bolder, he put one arm around her and drew her to him and reverently kissed the upturned brow so confidingly raised.
At that moment the father entered the shop, thinking they had gone, and stood a second looking at them, with many emotions struggling on his honest face, but he rallied and said, lightly:
“I might make you marry her for dot, Bennie.”
“Oh do, Mr. Goldberg. Please do. You know I have loved Dora ever since I came here a little boy and she was a baby. It would be no punishment—or else it would be a sweet one. Eh, Dora?”
“Den you shall be punished, Bennie. You are a good, hard-working poy, und some day, in a year or two, ven you are both a little older, you shall have mein chilt.”
“I thank you, Mr. Goldberg—father—more than I can say.”
“Dank Dora, not me. She chooset you. I could see by de red on her cheeks. But, my poy, guard her like de eyepalls, for she is all I haf. She is like de mudder ofer again, und if anyt’ings happen mein Dora it vill prake mein heart. Yes, I gif my little Dora to you. I vill announce de betrothal at vonce.”
Loney peeped in the door, uncertain as to his welcome, asking if he could come in. The shoemaker said, huskily, for this betrothal, while it assured his daughter a happy home, a good husband, and protection, still seemed to him to sever the dear tie that had so bound them together—the chain was broken, to let in another link: