“The best thing,” he replied, gayly.
“How dare you kiss my sister?” thundered Matt.
“Don’t be a fool, Matt!” said Abner, amiably. “She isn’t on’y your sister—she’s my wife.”
“Your wife!” breathed Matt.
“Yes, don’t be streaked, dear. We were married yesterday.” And Harriet disentangled herself from Abner and ran to throw her arms round Matt. But the boy repulsed her with a commanding gesture.
“Don’t come near me!” he cried, huskily. “Where’s mother? Does she know?”
“Oh, Matt!” cried Harriet, reproachfully, “d’you think I’d marry without her consent!”
“I call it rael mean, anyways,” he cried, tears of vexation getting into his eyes and his voice, “to take advantage of a feller like that, jest because his back’s turned!”
“Waal, we won’t do it agen!” cried Abner, with unshakable good-humor. “See here, Matt,” and he rose, too, revealing the slight tendency to crookedness of lower limb that offended the exigent eye of his mother-in-law, “let’s be pals. You were allus a spunky little chap, and I liked you from the day you stood up agin me and blacked my eye, though you had to jump up a’most to reach it. I was a beast in them thar days, but I raelly ain’t now, thanks to Harriet—God bless her! I know you don’t like my legs,” he added, with a flash of humor, “but there’s on’y two of ’em, anyways.”
“An’ thet’s two too many, you crawlin’ reptile,” retorted Matt. Then, turning to Harriet, he went on in slow, measured accents, “And is this—chap—goin’ to—live here?”