“So you’re married?”
“Yes’m; we went to the justice’s office. They said it was the prettiest wedding that had been there in a month. I wore my white shoes, and I flush up so when I get excited.”
“But how did you elope? Didn’t your family ever know that you were going to be married?”
“Oh, yes, they knew that for two months already, but we didn’t say nothing to them about this. We wanted a piece in the paper about it, and they always write it up when a couple elope. So we told the justice we was running away, and we wanted it wrote up, and he said he’d see to it. Besides, we didn’t have time to let ’em know, out home; we just decided it ourselves this afternoon.”
“Well, I hope you’ll be happy, Libbie,” Barbara recovered herself enough to say. “I suppose this means that I shall lose you?”
“Yes’m. I’m just back for my clothes. We’re going out to his mother’s to-night. She’s got the harvesters at her house this week, and will want me to come out and help her cook for them. After that, we’re going to housekeeping in town.”
“Aren’t you going to have any wedding-trip?”
“We had it already. We took the trolley-car out to the cemetery after the wedding, and set there two good hours, till it was time to come in and get supper. I knew you wouldn’t get home in time. I’m sorry to leave you this way, without warning, Miss Barbara, but it can’t be helped. That’s what an elopement is.”
Barbara’s pretty reception gown was laid aside for a shirt-waist and skirt and a kitchen apron. And as she and Gassy “cleared up” the dishes, the Vegetable Man’s daughter and her Steady Company passed away in a cloud of romance and tobacco smoke.