The roar of the water over the dam came to them on the evening breeze.

She put out her hand.
"Well," he sighed as he rested his lame foot, and started, "well--good-by." She turned to go, and then swiftly stepped toward him, and kissed him, and ran gasping and laughing up the walk.
The boy gazed after her a moment, wondering if he should follow her, but while he waited she was gone, and he heard her lock the door after her.

Then he limped down the road in a kind of swoon of joy.

Sometimes he tried to whistle--he tried a bar of Schubert's "Serenade," but consciously stopped.

Again and again under his breath as loud as he dared, he called the name "Ellen" and stood gazing at the moon, and then tried to hippety-hop, but his limp stopped that.