“Say, folks,” screamed Bobby, arising and rushing into his own room, “we’re going to have a marriage in our family.”
Then, truly, did pandemonium break loose. There was no need of further explanation: the situation was too clear; one had but to look on Compton and Barbara to know that they were betrothed. The three mothers fell upon Barbara, while the children, who one and all loved the transformed Compton, smothered that embarrassed young gentleman with hugs and kisses.
“Attention!” cried Compton as with kind but firm hands he disengaged himself from the four affectionate aggressors. “Listen, please. Each and every one of you here present is cordially invited to be present at the wedding.”
“When?” cried all.
“Let me see,” and Compton, as he spoke, wrinkled the brow of calculation. “On next Sunday, the banns will be read, also on the second and third Sunday. Then the wedding will follow on some day of that very week. What day shall it be, Barbara?”
“Saturday,” she promptly made answer.
“I don’t want to be critical, Barbara, but why put it to the very end of the week?”
“First, John, Saturday is Our Lady’s day.”
“Good!” said Peggy.
“And secondly, it’s the day when the children are free from school.”