“Well, but, mamma, he did, and I have it here in my pocket—haven’t I, Robbie?”
“Yes,” answered Robert, now glad of a chance to say a word; “and you are really and truly my mother now. Aren’t you glad you have a son?”
She did not answer; she looked first at one, then at the other with a puzzled expression, hardly knowing what to make of the affair. Both their faces were so earnest, and they talked in such a matter-of-fact way, that she could not comprehend it.
At last Dora, who had been fumbling in her pocket, took out the certificate and handed it to her mother, saying, triumphantly:
“There, mamma, read and see if we ain’t married, really and truly.”
Mrs. Dupont was frightened, and sank down pale and faint on the door-step, the paper still folded in her fingers.
“Now, Robert and Dora, if this is a joke,” she said, “you have carried it far enough; but if you are in earnest, tell me all about it at once.”
Robert then related all that had transpired from the time they left home until their return. He told her how the squire had questioned him about his father and mother, how angry and excited he seemed to get, and about his wanting to know if Dora’s papa was rich, etc. He described the marriage ceremony, their ramble around the grounds, their sail on the lake, and their treat in the house, with such truthful manner that Mrs. Dupont could not doubt him.
With trembling fingers and paling lips Mrs. Dupont opened the paper, and saw it was a regular certificate, with the children’s names and ages attached. She could no longer doubt the truth of what she heard and saw.
With a low moan the paper dropped from her hand, and she cried out in frightened tones: