“Yes,” said the minister, “you’ve done it. Now, listen to every word.”
“Has he promised to take care of Affy?” Rody asked, peering up into Roger’s face.
“Yes, Rody, with all my heart and soul and strength,” answered the old man, with the light of communion Sunday in his face.
The curl drooped lower on Cephas’ shirt-sleeve; Judith stood near Aunt Affy.
The solemn, glad words were spoken, the prayer uttered, the benediction given; Aunt Affy and Uncle Cephas were married.
“Let me kiss you, Rody,” said Affy, through her tears.
“I kissed you when you were a baby,” said Rody. “You were a nice little baby. Mother said I must always think of you first.”
“Now, you will go to bed,” said Affy. “It’s after nine o’clock.”
“Not in my room. I’ll go in your room. Don’t you go away all night. Keep the light burning, and don’t you go.”
“No; I’ll stay, Rody; we will take care of you always, Cephas and I.”