Mary. There; we’ll squat down behind this lilac bush. It’s nearly the appointed hour. I heard Aunt Mattie soliloquizing in her room this morning, after this manner—“At eight o’clock this night I go to meet my destiny! In the deserted garden, under the old pear tree. How very romantic!” Hark! there she comes!
Jack. Well, of all the absurd things that ever I heard tell of! Who would have believed that our staid old maid aunt would have been guilty of answering a matrimonial advertisement?
Mary. Hush! Jack, if you make a noise and spoil the fun now, I’ll never forgive you. Keep your head still, and don’t fidget so.
Aunt Mattie (slowly walking down the path—soliloquizing.) Eight o’clock! It struck just as I started out. He ought to be here. Why does he tarry? If he aint punctual I’ll give him the mitten. I swow I will! Dear gracious! what a sitivation to be in! Me, at my time of life! though, to be shure, I haint so old as—as I might be. The dew’s a-falling, and I shall get the rheumatiz in these thin shoes, if he don’t come quick. What if Jack and Mary should git hold of this? I never should hear the last of it! Never! I wouldn’t have ’em know it for a thousand dollars! Goodness me! What if it should be the deacon? Them children of his’n is dreadful youngsters; but, the Lord helping me, I’d try to train ’em up in the way they should go. Hark! is that him a-coming? No; it’s a toad hopping through the carrot bed. My soul and body! what if he should want to kiss me? I’ll chew a clove for fear he should. I wonder if it would be properous to let him? But then I s’pose if it’s the deacon I couldn’t help myself. He’s an awful deetarmined man; and if I couldn’t help it I shouldn’t be to blame! Deary me! how I trimble! There he comes! I hear his step! What a tall man! ’Taint the deacon. He’s got a shawl on! Must be the new school-master! he wears a shawl! (a man approaches, Miss Mattie goes up to him cautiously.) Is this Mr. C. G.?
C. G. Yes, it is; Is this Miss M. G.?
Aunt M. It is. Dear sir, I hope you wont think me bold and unmaidenly in coming out here all alone in the dark to meet you?
C. G. Never! Ah, the happiness of this moment! For forty years I have been looking for thee! (puts his arm around her.)
Aunt M. Oh, dear me! dont! dont! my dear sir! I aint used to it! and it aint exactly proper out here in this old garden! It’s a dreadful lonely spot, and if people should see us they might talk.
C. G. Let ’em talk! They’ll talk still more when you and I are married, I reckon. Lift your veil and let me see your sweet face.
Aunt M. Yes, if you’ll remove that hat and let me behold your countenance.