“We thought you would bring—we got all ready for your wife and the children,” Cornelia was saying. The doll stared on, but the minister looked up.
“My wife and the children?” he repeated after her. “I don't think I know what you mean, Miss Cornelia. I must be dreaming—No, wait; please don't tell me what it all means just yet! Give me a little time to enjoy the dream.” But Cornelia went on.
“You wrote Mrs. Bloodgood about your marriage,” she said. Sweet voices can be severe. “It hurried us a little, but we have tried to get everything in readiness. If there is another bed needed for the chil—”
“I wrote Mrs. Bloodgood about my marriage?” he said, slowly; then as understanding dawned upon him the puzzled lines in his face loosened into laughter that would out. He leaned back in his rocker and gave himself up to it helplessly. As helplessly Cornelia joined in. The doll on the sofa smiled on—no more, no less.
“Will you ex—excuse me?” he laughed.
“No,” laughed she.
“But I can't help it, and you're l-laughing yourself.”
“No!”
He got to his feet and caught her hands.
“Let's keep on,” he pleaded, unministerially. “I'm having a beautiful time. Aren't you? I wish you'd say yes, Miss Cornelia!”