"Well?" says I, after a step or two, seeing he didn't speak.
"Well?" says he.
"I can't say 'Yes' or 'No' either, till you ask me," said I.
He stopped under the starlight and looked in my eyes.
"Emmie," says he, "did you ever doubt that I loved you?"
"Once I thought you did," said I; "but it's different now."
"I do love you," said he, "and you know it."
"Me, Stephen?" said I,—"with my face like a speckled sparrow's egg?"
"Yes, you," said he; and he bent down and kissed me, and then we walked on.
By-and-by Stephen said, When would I come and be the life of his house and the light of his eyes? That was rather a speech for Stephen; and I said, I would go whenever he wanted me. And then we went home very comfortably, and Stephen told mother it was all right, and mother and Lurindy did what they'd got very much into the habit of doing,—cried; and I said, I should think I was going to be buried, instead of married; and Stephen took my knitting-work away, and said, as I had knit all our trouble and all our joy into that thing, he meant to keep it just as it was; and that was the end of my knitting sale-socks.