William, but shortly back from abroad, you know, standing with grand, military rigidity, said:
“I do.”
“And Lucy Donaldson, do you…?”
It didn’t last long. Just a word or two; a burst of music of a famous march by John Smith, Branton Hills’ organist, in that cabin with a small piano; just a But that crowd couldn’t wait for that! With a whoop His Honor sprang into that pond, wading swiftly to board that fairy craft; and in an instant Nancy was following him, splashing frantically along, and scrambling aboard to almost floor Bill with a gigantic hug as His Honor shook Bill’s hand, with a loving arm about Lucy. Old Lady Flanagan was shouting wildly:—
“Whoops! Whoops! By gorra! This young gang of today is a smart boonch!” and His Honor said:—
“Ha, ha! I didn’t know a thing about this! Bill’s a smart chap!” And Old Tom Donaldson, grabbing happy, laughing, blushing, palpitating Lucy as soon as that young lady was on dry land, said:—
“Say! You sly young chick! Why didn’t you notify your old Dad?”
“Why, Daddy! That would spoil all my fun!”
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