But I couldn’t begin to git in t’other room for the fellers all pullin’ and haulin’ and shakin’ the life out of me to tell me how glad they was.
“Howdy, Majer, howdy,” ses old Mr. Byers, “I give you joy,” ses he: “yer gwine to marry the flower of the county, as I always sed. She’s a monstrous nice gal, Majer.”
“That’s a fact,” ses old Mr. Skinner, “that’s a fact, and I hope you’ll be a good husband to her, Joseph, and that you’ll have good luck with your little—”
“Thank ye, thank ye, gentlemen; come along, Cousin Pete,” ses I, as quick as I could git away from ’em.
The dore to t’other room was opened, and in we went. I never was so struck all up in a heap afore—thar sot Mary with three or four more gals, butiful as a angel and blushin’ like a rose. When she seed me she kind o’ looked down and sort o’ smiled, and sed “good evenin’.” I couldn’t say a word for my life, for more’n a minit. Thar she sot, the dear gal of my hart—and I couldn’t help but think to myself what a villain a man must be that could marry her and then make her unhappy by treatin’ her mean; and I determined in my sole to stand atween her and the storms of the world, and to love her, and take care of her, and make her happy, as long as I lived. If you could jest seen her as she was dressed then, and you wasn’t a married man, you couldn’t help but envy my luck, after all the trubble I’ve had to git her. She was dressed jest to my likin’, in a fine white muslin frock, with short sleeves, and white satin slippers, with her hair all hangin’ over her snow-white neck and shoulders in butiful curls, without a single brest-pin or any kind of juelry or ornament, ’cept a little white satin bow on the side of her hed. Bimeby Miss Carline cum in the room.
“Cum, sis, they’s all reddy,” ses she, and ther was grate big tears in her eyes, and she went and give Mary a kiss rite in her mouth, and hugged her a time or two.
We all got up to go. Mary trembled monstrous, and I felt sort o’ fainty myself, but I didn’t feel nothin’ like cryin’.
When we got in the room whar the cumpany was, old Squire Rogers stopt us rite in the middle of the flore and axed us for the licens. Cousin Pete handed ’em to him, and he red ’em out loud to the people, who was all as still as deth. After talkin’ a little he went on:
“If ennybody’s got ennything to say why this cupple shouldn’t be united in the holy bands of wedlock,” ses he, “let ’em now speak, or always afterwards hold ther peace—”
“Oh, my lord! oh, my darlin’ daughter! oh, dear laws a massy!” ses old Miss Stallins as loud as she could squall, a clappin’ her hands and cryin’ and shoutin’ like she was at a camp-meetin’.