"Whew!" panted the exhausted swain, mopping his brow."I'm clean tuckered out.I ain't done so much work for ten years.""Don't say a word, Caleb Hammond.If I ain't got my death of--of ammonia or somethin', I miss my guess.I'm all wheezed up from settin' at that open winder waitin' for you to come; and I thought you never WOULD come."As Caleb was helping the lady of his choice into the carryall he noticed that she carried a small hand-bag.
"What you got that thing for?" he demanded.
"It's my reticule; there's a clean handkerchief and a few other things in it.Mercy on us! You didn't suppose I'd go off to get married without even a decent handkerchief, did you? I feel enough like a sneakin' ragamuffin and housebreaker as 'tis.Why I ever was crazy enough to--where have you put the horse?"Mr.Hammond led her to where George Washington was tethered.The father of his country was tired of standing alone in the damp, and he trotted off briskly.The first mile of their journey was accomplished safely, although the night was pitch-dark, and when they turned into the Bayport Road, which for two-thirds of its length leads through thick soft pine and scrub-oak woods, it was hard to distinguish even the horse's ears.Miss Parker insisted that every curtain of the carryall--at the back and both sides--should be closely buttoned down, as she was fearful of the effects of the night air.
"Fresh air never hurts nobody," said Caleb."There ain't nothin'
so good for a body as fresh air.I sleep with my window open wide winter and summer.""You DO? Well, I tell you right now, I don't.I should say not!
I shut every winder tight and I make Kenelm do the same thing.Idon't run any risks from drafts."
Mr.Hammond grunted, and was silent for some little time, only brightening up when the lady, now in a measure recovered from her fright and the anxiety of waiting, began to talk of the blessings that were to come from their independent wedded life in a home of their own.
"We'll keep chickens," she said, "because I do like fresh eggs for breakfast.Let's see; this is the way 'twill be; you'll get up about five o'clock and kindle the fire, and--""Hey?"
"I say you'll get up at five o'clock and kindle the fire.""ME get up and kindle it?"
"Sartin; you don't expect I'm goin' to, do you?""No-o, I suppose not.It come kind of sudden, that's all.You see, I've been used to turnin' out about seven.Seldom get up afore that.""Seven! My soul! I always have my breakfast et by seven.Well, as I say, you get up at five and kindle the fire, and then you'll go out to the henyard and get what eggs there is.Then--""Then I'll come in and call you, and you'll come down and get breakfast.What breakfasts we will have! Eggs for you, if you want 'em, and ham and fried potatoes for me, and pie--""Pie? For breakfast?"
"Sartin.Laviny Marthy, my first wife, always had a piece of pie warmed for me, and I've missed it since.I don't really care two cents for breakfast without pie.""Well now, Caleb, if you think I'm goin' to get up and warm up pie every mornin', let alone fryin' potatoes, and--""See here, Hannah! Seems to me if I'm willin' to turn out at that ungodly hour and then go scratchin' around the henhouse to please you, you might be willin' to have a piece of pie het up for me.""Well, maybe you're right.But I must say--well, I'll try and do it.It'll seem kind of hard, though, after the ****** breakfasts Kenelm and I have when we're alone.But--what are you stoppin'
for?"
"There seems to be a kind of crossroads here," said Caleb, bending forward and peering out of the carryall."It's so everlastin' dark a feller can't see nothin'.Yes, there is crossroads, three of 'em.Now, which one do we take? I ain't drove to Bayport direct for years.When we went to the Cattle Show we went up through the Centre.Do you know which is the right road, Hannah?"Hannah peered forth from the blackness of the back seat."Now, let me think," she said."Last time I went to Bayport by this road was four year ago come next February.Sarah Snow's daughter Becky was married to a feller named Higgins--Solon Higgins' son 'twas.No, 'twa'n't his son, because--""Aw, crimus! Who cares if 'twas his aunt's gran'mother? What Iwant to know is which road to take."
"Well, seems to me, nigh as I can recollect, that we took the left-hand road.No, I ain't sure but 'twas the right-hand.There's a bare chance that it might have been the middle one, 'cause there was trees along both sides.I know we was goin' to Becky Snow's weddin'--""Trees 'long it! There ain't nothin' BUT trees for two square miles around these diggin's.Git dap, you! I'll take the right-hand road.I think that's the way."
"Well, so do I; but, as I say, I ain't sure.You needn't be so cross and unlikely, whether 'tis or 'tain't."If the main road had been dark, the branch road was darker, and the branches of the trees slapped and scratched the sides of the carryall.Caleb's whole attention was given to his driving, and he said nothing.Miss Parker at length broke the dismal silence.
"Caleb," she said, "what time had we ought to get to Bayport?""About four o'clock, I should think.We'll drive 'round till about seven o'clock, and then we'll go and get married.I used to know the Methodist minister there, and--""METHODIST minister! You ain't goin' to a Methodist minister to be married?""I sartin shouldn't go to no one else.I've been goin' to the Methodist church for over thirty year.You know that well's I do.""I snum I never thought of it, or you wouldn't have got me this far without settlin' that question.I was confirmed into the Baptist faith when I was twelve year old.And you must have known that just as well as I knew you was a Methodist.""Well, if you knew I was one you ought to know I'd want a Methodist to marry me.'Twas a Methodist married me afore.""Humph! What do you suppose I care who married you before? I'm the one that's goin' with you to be married now; and if I was married by anybody but a Baptist minister I wouldn't feel as if Iwas married at all."
