Away with her red-headed, red-bearded beau.
Have mercy, Lord,
And help him to bear
What we’ve been doing this many a year!
And such singing! We’d been practicing in the back part of the yard, and humming in bed, so as to get the words into the tune; but we hadn’t let out until that night. That night we let go.
There’s nothing like singing from your heart, and, though I was the minister and stood on a box which was shaky, I sang too. I led.
The bride didn’t think it was modest to hold up her head, and she was the only silent one. But the bridegroom and bridesmaids sang, and it sounded like the revivals at the Methodist church. It was grand.
And that bride! She was Miss Bray. A graven image of her couldn’t have been more like her.
She was stuffed in the right places, and her hair was frizzled just like Miss Bray’s. Frizzled in front, and slick and tight in the back; and her face was a purple pink, and powdered all over, with a piece of dough just above her mouth on the left side to correspond with Miss Bray’s mole.