"How soon?" asked Crane, eagerly.
"Well, there's a parson a few miles from here. We can ride right over and be back by sundown, if that will suit you."
"A capital idea, Mrs. Brown. You won't be Brown long," he added, sportively. "How will you like to be called Mrs. Crane?"
"One name will do as well as another," said the widow, philosophically.
Crane wanted to make inquiries about the five thousand dollars and the claim; but he reflected that it might be inferred that his views were mercenary. It would be more politic to wait till after marriage. He did not understand the character of the woman he was going to marry. She understood very well that Crane was marrying her for her money; but she felt lonesome, and it suited her to have a husband, and she was willing to overlook such a trifle.
The widow had a horse of her own. Directly after dinner it was harnessed, and the two rode over to Dirt Hole, a small mining settlement, where the Rev. Pelatiah Pond, a Methodist minister, united them in the bonds of matrimony.
When Mr. and Mrs. Crane reached home, Bill ventured to inquire, "Have you got the money in the house, Mrs. Crane,—the five thousand dollars, I mean?"
"It's put away in a safe place."
"You'd better let me take care of it for you, my dear."
"Not at present, Mr. Crane. A year from now I will let you have half of it, if you behave yourself."