“Jobs is bin putty brisk dis fall,” added “Rem,” “an’ I’s got my yother room all fixed.”
“Is you done picked her out?” asked Judy, with apparent unconcern.
“Picked her out!” exclaimed “Rem,” “long’s I bin gwine wid you, Judy Marshall, now you ax me who I wants to marry!”
Rosy dawn dispersed the moneychangers from the temple and shamed the lovers from the pulpit. On the following Sunday, St. Michael’s church was packed with an unusually large audience, and the morning service was concluded with a wedding.
“Judy Marshall,” said the preacher, “does you solemnly promise to live up to dis man, lack you ought ter?”
“I does.”
“Remington Ingleheart, is you gwine to cherry dis ’oman, whether she’s sick or no?”
“Sho’s God, I be!”
