"Katie an' I have been lovin' each other fer years, in fact, ever since we were children. We made it up then that we should marry some day. When I went West it was to earn enough money to buy a home fer us. I've got a farm now, an' I can keep her. We've talked it over every night fer a month, an' she's willin' to go if ye will give yer consent," he burst out, earnestly.
Mistress McVeigh listened in silence, rocking her chair to and fro. As the night became darker only her outline was visible to the youth, who poured into her ears his love story with an unfettered tongue. He talked rapidly of his plans, his chances and his faith in his ability to maintain Katie Duncan as comfortably as she had been at the tavern. When he had finished, Nancy called sharply to Katie, whom she rightly guessed was not far away, to fetch a lamp. Katie obeyed with commendable alacrity, and deposited it on the table. She had never seemed so grown-up and pretty to her foster-parent as she did at that moment.
"Katie," began Nancy, with ominous slowness, "Will has been tellin' me that ye have been courtin' under me very nose. Do ye love him truly, lass?"
"Yes, granny," the girl answered, almost defiantly.
"God bless ye, children. The sooner ye're married, then, the better," Nancy exclaimed, and she drew them both to her and kissed them again and again.
It was a real old-fashioned country dance that followed the wedding of Katie Duncan and Will Devitt. The ceremony was performed by Father Doyle in the early morning, and all afternoon the preparations for the evening were being rushed to completion with tireless energy.
"Katie's the last o' my children, an' I'll give her a fittin' send-off," Nancy explained to Sophia Dodona, and her words were not idly spoken.
The doctor's wife was in the kitchen, superintending the baking. As a result, such an array of good things to eat had never before graced the modest board. The task of decorating was in the care of Will Devitt and his bride, and a gay dress they were putting on the interior of their old home. Flags were draped over the walls, evergreens fastened to cover the door and window-tops, and flowers from the Piper conservatory were placed wherever space would permit. Nancy had no especial work, so she assumed the rôle of general advisor and final court of appeal. Such a concourse of guests had been invited that it was doubtful if the accommodation was sufficient. But, as Will Devitt suggested, they danced closer together nowadays, so that the room required would not be so much.
By eight o'clock the merry sleigh-bells were jingling over the Monk Road. Boys and girls, some older than the term would imply, were tumbling out of the robes in the glare of the big tin lamp, hung to the gable end, which Nancy had borrowed from the church gate. The fiddlers arrived early, and after a warm at the hall stove, began tuning up on the improvised platform at the end of the parlor. The floor manager, a tall young Irishman named O'Connell, raised his voice above the babel of talking and laughing, and proclaimed the opening number.
"Partners fer the Lancers!" he shouted.