Whereupon Drusilla, her eyes sparkling, her rosy lips parted temptingly, sang:
| Oh, Sir, I will accept of you the keys of your heart; I’ll lock it up forever and we never more will part, And I will be your bride, your joy and your dear, And I will take a walk with you anywhere. |
When her last note ended Dru turned demurely toward Jonathan, whereupon that happy swain leaped to his feet and, extending a hand toward the singing master, sang:
| My man, Philomel Whiffet, here’s fifty pounds, for thee, I’d never have won this lady fair if it hadn’t been for thee. |
With that the whole singing school cheered and laughed.
Drusilla Osborn was so excited she almost twisted her kerchief into shreds, for she and all the rest knew that by consenting to sing the play-game song through she and Jonathan had thereby plighted their troth. Either could have dropped out on the very second verse if they had been so inclined. But there, they had sung it through to the end. If she hadn’t Tizzie Scaggs would have leaped at the chance. So now, the singing master arose and was first to wish them well.
“A life of joy to the Witchcotts!” He bowed profoundly.
Even Mathias Oneby wished his rival happiness. The girls tittered. Older folks nodded approval.
Then away they all went into the starlit night, trooping homeward through the snow, Jonathan and Drusilla leading the way.
Philomel Whiffet lingered a moment in the doorway of Bethel church house chuckling to himself, “Dru’s got her just deserts. She had no right to taynt the two young fellows. I’m pleased I caught her in the snare and made her choose betwixt them.” He wrapped the muffler about his throat and, drawing on his mittens, the singing master stepped out into the snow, the coonskin cap drawn lower over his bespectacled eyes. “I’m proud I caught Dru for Jonathan,” he repeated. “She’s too peert nowhow for that shy Mathias Oneby. Women are strange critters when it comes to courting. And her prankin’ like she did over me misplacing my specs.”