We were married.  I suppose I ought to stop now and describe just how it was, and what the bride wore, and a list of the presents.  But it didn’t last long enough to be clear in my mind.  Everything is a bit hazy, just there.  I dropped the ring, I know that for certain, because it rolled under an article of furniture that looked suspiciously like a folding-bed masquerading as a cabinet, and Frosty had to get down on all fours and fish it out before we could go on.  And Edith put her handkerchief to her mouth and giggled disreputably.  But, anyway, we got married.

The preacher gave Beryl an impressive lily-and-rose certificate, which caused her much embarrassment, because it would not go into any pocket of hers or mine, but must be carried ostentatiously in the hand.  I believe Edith was a bit jealous of that beflowered roll. Her preacher had been out of certificates, and had made shift with a plain, undecorated sheet of foolscap that Frosty said looked exactly like a home-made bill of sale.  I told Edith she could paint some lilies around the edge, and she flounced out with her nose in the air.

We had decided that we must go back in the morning and face the music.  We had no desire to be arrested for stealing Weaver’s car, and there was not a man in Osage who could be trusted to drive it back.  Then the girls needed a lot of things; and though Frosty had intended to take the next train East, I persuaded him to go back and wait for us.

Beryl said she was almost sure her father would be nice about it, now there was no good in being anything else.  I think that long roll of stiff paper went a long way toward strengthening her confidence; she simply could not conceive of any father being able to resist its appeal and its look of finality.

We all got into the car again, and went up to the station, so I might send a wire to dad.  It seemed only right and fair to let him know at once that he had a daughter to be proud of.

“Good Lord!” I broke out, when we were nearly to the depot “If that isn’t—­do any of you notice anything out on the side-track, over there?” I pointed an unsteady finger toward the purple and crimson sunset.

“A maroon-colored car, with dark-green—­” Beryl began promptly.

“That’s it,” I cut in.  “I was afraid joy had gone to my head and was making me see crooked.  It’s dad’s car, the Shasta.  And I wonder how the deuce she got here!”

“Probably by the railroad,” said Edith flippantly.

I drove over to the Shasta, and we stopped.  I couldn’t for the life of me understand her being, there.  I stared up at the windows, and nodded dazedly to Crom, grinning down at me.  The next minute, dad himself came out on the platform.

“So it’s you, Ellie?” he greeted calmly.  “I thought Potter wasn’t to let you know I was coming; he must be getting garrulous as he grows old.  However, since you are here, I’m very glad to see you, my boy.”