“Yes, I could be your wife just the same; for don’t you suppose one of those squirrels was the other’s wife? And then we shouldn’t have to work. I hate to wash dishes, and dust, and——”
“Well, Dora,” interrupted Robert, “you won’t have to work when you marry me, for I shall have plenty of money, and you can have servants to do the work, and all you’ll have to do will be to dress up in pretty clothes and trinkets, and play all the time, if you want to.”
“Oh, that will be so nice, Robbie!” exclaimed Dora, heaving a sigh of relief at the pleasing prospect of not having to work. “I wish I were your little wife now.”
“Do you?” he asked, a bright look coming into his face. “Well, I’ll tell you what we will do. We will go and be married before we go home, then I can take you to mother, for she will be my mother too, then. Will you, Brightie?”
“Yes, indeed, we will,” replied Dora. “Then my name will be Dora Ellerton, won’t it? I think it’s a real pretty name, too. But who will marry us, Robbie?”
“I don’t know. I guess Squire Moulton will; he’s justice, or something. Any way, I’ll ask him. Come, get up, old Prince, for we are going to be married.”
He touched the horse lightly with the whip, and these two children, so full of their fun and mischief, laughed, chatted, and planned for the future, little dreaming of the sorrow and misery they were about to entail upon themselves.
At length they rode up the broad drive-way, and stopped before the squire’s elegant country seat.
He was not in, the man said, who opened the door for them, but guessed they would find him somewhere about the grounds.
“Well, no matter,” said Robert, who was beginning to feel a little embarrassed with his strange errand. “We will go and find him.”