months. This is only a troth. Folks don’t jump into matrimony, that way.”
“Hm-m-m! I don’t know about that,” said Gadsby, laughing; and thinking way back to that captivating lassoo!
John Smith was Branton Hills’ famous church organist; and, at a small, dainty lunch, Kathlyn told of this troth. In a day or two about all Branton Hills’ young girlhood had, on rushing in, told Kathlyn what a grand chap John was; and all that town’s young manhood had told John similar things about Kathlyn. So, as this is a jumpy sort of a story, anyway, why not skip months of happy ardor, and find how this tying of an additional knot in our Mayor’s family will turn out? You know that Kathlyn don’t think much of pomp or show, and such a big church ritual as Nancy had is all right if you want it, but Kathlyn had fond thoughts of just a small, parlor affair, with only a group of old chums; and no throwing of old boots, and “sharp food-grains,” which work downward, to scratch your back, or stick in your hair as stubbornly as burrs.
“Such crazy doings,” said Kathlyn, “always look foolish. It’s odd how anybody can follow up such antiquarian customs.”
As Kathlyn’s big night was drawing nigh,
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