Thunder and lightnin’! thinks I, here’s another yeath-quake. But I held on to Mary, and was ’termined that nothin’ short of a real bust up of all creation should git her from me.
“Go ahed, Squire,” ses Cousin Pete. “It ain’t nothin’.”
Mary blushed dredful, and seemed like she would drap on the flore.
Miss Carline cum and whispered something to her, and mother and two or three more old wimmin got old Miss Stallins to go in t’other room.
The Squire went through the rest of the bisness in a hurry, and me and Mary was made flesh of one bone and bone of one flesh before the old woman got over her highstericks. When she got better she cum to me and hugged and kissed me as hard as she could rite afore ’em all, while all the old codgers in the room was salutin’ the bride as they called it. I didn’t like that part of the ceremony at all, and wanted to change with ’em monstrous bad.
After the marryin’ was over we all tuck supper, and the way old Miss Stallinses table was kivered over with good things was uncommon. After playin’ and frolickin’ till ’bout ten o’clock, the bride’s cake was cut, and sich a cake was never baked in Georgia afore. The Stallinses bein’ Washingtonians, ther wasn’t no wine, but the cake wasn’t bad to take jest dry so. ’Bout twelve o’clock the cumpany begun to cut home, all of ’em jest as sober as when they cum.
I had to shake hands agin with ’em all, and tell ’em all good nite.
“Good nite, Cousin Mary,” ses Pete, “good nite, Majer,” ses he, “I ’spose you ain’t gwine back to town to-nite,” and then bust rite out in a big laugh, and away he went.
That’s jest the way with Peter, he’s a good feller enough, but he haint got no better sense.
Mary ses she’s sorry she couldn’t send you no more cake, but Mr. Mountgomery’s saddle-bags wouldn’t hold half she rapped up for you. Don’t forgit to put our marriage in the Miscellany. No more from