An' he was just as glad to give it as she was to take it.

An' so from mornin' till night they was together, traipsin' all over the house an' garden, an' trampin' off through the woods an' up on the mountain every other day with their lunch.
"You see she was city-bred, an' not used to woods an' flowers growin' wild; an' she went crazy over them.

He showed her the stars, too, through his telescope; but she hadn't a mite of use for them, an' let him see it good an' plain.

She told him--I heard her with my own ears--that his eyes, when they laughed, was all the stars she wanted; an' that she'd had stars all her life for breakfast an' luncheon an' dinner, anyway, an' all the time between; an' she'd rather have somethin' else, now--somethin' alive, that she could love an' live with an' touch an' play with, like she could the flowers an' rocks an' grass an' trees.
"Angry?
Your pa?
Not much he was! He just laughed an' caught her 'round the waist an' kissed her, an' said she herself was the brightest star of all.

Then they ran off hand in hand, like two kids.
An' they _was_ two kids, too.