"I have had mine now, Mignonette, and Ency spoke true."
"How long does it take people to get married," came in a good-humoured kind of a growl from the room they had left, the door to which was ajar. "Ain't it done yet?"
"There's Mr. Simlins, Endecott," whispered Faith, colouring.
"Come in and see," said Squire Stoutenburgh. "Who wants to know?" Wherewith the door was pushed open, and Mr. Simlins long figure presented itself, and stood still.
"What are you uneasy about, Mr. Simlins?" the Squire went on. "You may go and shake hands with Mr. Linden, but don't congratulate anybody else." The farmer's eye rested for a moment on Faith; then he went round and shook hands with the bridegroom.
"Is it done?" he asked again in the midst of this ceremony.—"Yes."
"Past all help, Mr. Simlins," said Mrs. Somers.
"I am glad, for one!" Mr. Simlins answered. "Mayn't I see this cretur here? I wish you'd stand up and let me look at you."
Faith rose up, he had edged along to her. He surveyed her profoundly.
"Be you Faith Derrick?" he said.—"Yes, sir."
He shook her hand then, holding it fast. "It's the true, and not a
counter," he remarked to Mr. Linden. "Now, if you'd only take
Neanticut, I could die content, only for liking to live and see you.
Where are you going to take her to?"—"I am not sure yet."