Nobody but Ruth knew what that sign had cost Sandy. He had come home, fresh from his triumphs, and burning with ambition to make his way in the world,—to make a name for her to share, and a record for her to be proud of. The opportunity that had been offered him was one in a lifetime. It had taken all his courage and strength and loyalty to refuse it, but Ruth had helped him.
"We must think of the judge first, Sandy," she said. "While he lives we must stay here; there'll be time enough for the big world after a while."
So Sandy gave up his dream for the present and tacked the new sign over the office door with his own hand.
The old judge watched him from the pavement. "That's right," he said, rubbing his hands together with childish satisfaction; "
that's just about the best-looking sign I ever saw!"
"If you ever turn me down in court I'll stand it on its head and make my own name come first," threatened Sandy; and the judge repeated the joke to every one he saw that day.
It was not long until the flying rumors settled down into positive facts, and Clayton was thrilled to its willow-fringed circumference. There was to be a wedding! Not a Nelson wedding of the olden times, when a special car brought grand folk down from the city, and the townspeople stayed apart and eyed their fine clothes and gay behavior with ill-concealed disfavor. This was to be a Clayton wedding for high and low, rich and poor.
There was probably not a shutter opened in the town, on the morning of the great day, that some one did not smile with pleasure to find that the sun was shining.
Mrs. Hollis woke Sandy with the dawn, and insisted upon helping him pack his
trunk before breakfast. For a week she had been absorbed in his nuptial outfit, jealously guarding his new clothes, to keep him from wearing them all before the wedding.