“Sudden doin’s up to the house,” said Enos, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. “’Pears like Miss Rill’s made up her mind about Brother Sanderson at last.”
“Is Brother Sanderson at the house?” inquired Infant.
“He is, for a fact, and the license and the preacher with him. Now what I want to know, and what I ought to been consulted, Miss Infant, seeing how long I been here, is this—what’s you and me going to do afterward? Is it an interference?”
“Enos,” said Infant, with a gasp, “this is almost as sudden to me as it is to you. But considering Rilla’s firm character, do you think she would let any new person interfere with her established plans?”
“No, I don’t,” replied Enos, grinning.
Rilla was standing before the dresser in her room arrayed in her stiffest silk. She looked with composure upon her twin, who shut the bedroom door, and hurried up to embrace her.
“It was the best boiling of soap I ever had,” said Rilla, warding the fading roses away from her silk.
“Rilla dear, you might have told me what you meant to do this evening. But I am so glad! I couldn’t bear the thoughts of leaving you before, but now I can.”
“I saw Truman Condit come into the yard with you,” said Rilla. “He’s grown fat. It must have agreed with him to go west.”
“This has been a great rose day,” said her twin, undoing all traces of the day’s festival, and piling them carefully in a waste-basket where they could make no litter. “Won’t you let me kiss you, Rilla?”