“Perhaps it has,” sobbed Affy, trembling from head to foot, as Judith led her across the room.
Roger arose and stood before the old man and the old woman; her head drooped so that one long curl rested on his shoulder.
“I’d ought to have a coat on,” said Cephas with an ashamed face; “it isn’t proper for a man to be married in his shirt-sleeves.”
“And let me fix up a little,” coaxed Aunt Affy; “this is my old muslin, all faded out.”
“Oh, don’t spoil anything,” Judith besought; “see how she is watching you. Aunt Rody, don’t you want Uncle Cephas to take care of Aunt Affy?”
“Yes, yes, oh, yes. Has he promised the minister?” she asked with tremulous anxiety.
“Listen, and you will hear him promise. Joe, come here,” Roger called to the step in the kitchen.
Joe came to the threshold, threw off his hat, and stood amazed.
“Aunt Rody, put their hands together,” said Judith, taking Aunt Rody’s hands as the old bride and bridegroom stretched their hands toward her.
“Did I do it?” she asked, as she felt the touch of both hands. “Is it done for always?”