CHAPTER XIX.
OLD FOLKS LEFT ALONE.
Early the next morning a wagon drew up at the gate. It was to convey the bridal party to a little village high up among the mountains. Margaret was tearful and Jasper was sad, hiding his countenance as he fussed with the harness. Tom insisted that it was no time for sorrow. "We'll be back in a week's time," said he. "And even after I take her down to town I'll bring her back here every month." But Margaret continued to sorrow. "I don't never expect to see you ag'in," she said and Lou laughed with tears in her eyes. "Why, it's nothin' to be away from home a week, mother. And just think how happy I am." But there were more tears; and Jasper stormed at a dog and shook the wagon wheel to satisfy himself that it was sound. The driver, as lank a lout as ever slept in a stable, sat upon a board seat, stuffing his greedy mouth with ginger cake. He took up the lines and clucked to the horses, but it was discovered that something more remained to be said and he was commanded to wait.
"Jest hold on a minit till I git sorter uster the idee," said Margaret. "I want to say somethin' an' I don't know what."
Old Jasper put his arm about her. "It's in the way of nature, my dear," he said and upon his shoulder she wept, the wagon waiting, the driver munching; and on the fence and in the trees the birds that had been wedding guests were singing, having come down from the vine-knob to carrol them a good-bye. At last there was nothing more to be said and the driver popped his hickory bark whip and the wagon rolled away. Jasper went into the house and sat down, deep in thought, but for a long time Margaret stood at the gate, and the old man saw her sobbing in her apron. She came into the room when no longer could she hear the wagon rattling over the stones, high up the hill, and he said to her: "In the way of nature, my dear, and you mustn't grieve. I count her a very lucky girl. That young feller will make her a good livin' and—"
"Well," Margaret broke in, "she deserves it. You talk as if he wan't lucky too. But I jest want to tell you he is and you needn't say he ain't. You ought to be ashamed of yo'se'f to belittle yo' own daughter thatter way. Well, I never. Never did I expect to see the day when you'd say yo' child wan't worthy of a young man, even if he is a jedge's son."
"Air you about through?"
"Oh, don't talk to me. I'm out of all patience with you. Great goodness alive, is it all to his credit that he is a jedge's son? You talk like if she hadn't found him nobody else would a had her. And thar ain't a puttier girl in all this here section, although she hain't got as many clothes as she ought to have, a goin' a way off on a bridal tower."
"Gittin' putty nigh the eend."