Ruth nodded.
"But I never heard of a boy eight years old having real children."
Ruth closed her eyes in solemn meditation. Cyrus, after waiting in vain
for an answer said, with a laugh: "Think of me with real children,
p'r'aps biggern I am! They could lick me in a fight." And he laughed.
"That is funny, isn't it?" And he gave her arm a shake, as if to wake
her up.
At the sound of laughter Zac, sitting on the step below, cocked his
ears, wagged his tail and sidled up closer to Cyrus, who reached
forward, gathered up the loose skin at the back of Zac's neck and gave
him a friendly shake.
"Anyway," said Ruth, "everybody ought to get married. Your father and
mother and my father and mother were all married."
"Yes, I s'pose they were."
"Of course they were. They would be ashamed not to. All good and wise
people marry. Why, King Solomon, who was wiser than anybody, had seven
hundred wives."
"How many?"
"Seven hundred."
"Seven hundred! Oh, get out!"
"But he did!"
"Seven hundred, all alive at once?"
"Yes."
"Jimminy! That seems an awful lot for one man, doesn't it?"
Ruth confessed that it did.
"Nobody in Longfields has more than one, have they?"
Ruth mentioned several citizens, but could recall none who had more
than one wife.
"If one," said Cyrus, "is enough for men around here, why should your
Solomon need seven hundred?"
"I don't know. Perhaps the Bible tells."
"P'r'aps," said Cyrus, "he was homely or mean or something like that,
and instead of one good one he had to take seven hundred bad ones."
"No, I don't believe it was that."
Cyrus reflected a moment. "P'r'aps they were all mighty good and there
being so many of 'em was what made Solomon so wise."
"I shouldn't wonder."
There came a silence. Then Cyrus straightened up and spoke with
emphasis. "I just don't believe he or anybody else had seven hundred
wives. It's too many. It isn't likely, somehow. No feller would want
that much."
"Why, Cyrus Alton! Don't you believe what the Bible says?"
"Yes--I--I--'course I believe it if you and the Bible both say so, but
seven hundred does seem a mighty big lot." Then, as he looked away,
over the common, his eyes rested on two persons who stood talking
together across the way, and he asked:
"Were Solomon's wives real live women like Mrs. Strong and Mrs. Clapp,
over there?"
"Of course they were!"
Cyrus closed his eyes. But through his ears came the thin, far
reaching, nasal voice of Mrs. Clapp. "Did seven hundred women like that
sit around the breakfast table with Solomon every morning?"
"I s'pose they did."
For an instant Cyrus faltered. He lowered his eyes and studied his
shoes with the copper toes. There might be a darker side to matrimony,
a noisier, less peaceful side, than Ruth had pictured. But, as he
turned and looked at his companion, it came upon him, like a ray of
sunshine that a hundred Ruths would be, oh, so very different from a
hundred Mrs. Clapps!
"Did all those wives," he asked, "sit with Solomon in one pew on
Sunday?"
Ruth made no answer.
"Doesn't the Bible say anything about that?"
"I don't remember."
"Well, if they did, I say he must have had a mighty long pew. Do you
s'pose they all slept in the same bed?"
"Perhaps."
Cyrus laughed. "Seven hundred wives in one bed! Cracky! I guess old
Solomon slept on the floor!"
He turned and smiled into the girl's face. But he saw no mirth, only
surprise and disapproval as the lovely eyes looked into his own. He was
learning his first lesson in the noble art of suppressing humor in the
presence of humorous things when taken seriously. And he blushed at
his own frivolity. Moreover, his sympathy for the much married Solomon
did not weaken his allegiance to the girl beside him. There was, to be
sure, a peculiar excitement in the idea of sitting at breakfast with
seven hundred Ruths entirely his own. Yet, somehow, the vision daunted
him. Even the vision of a hundred Ruths, all just alike, filled him
with a kind of awe--an awe of more things than he could ever live up
to. Seeking courage and consolation, he looked down into the face of
Zac as a companion more like himself--on a lower spiritual plane. Zac,
still sitting in front of them, always looking earnestly into the face
of whoever was speaking, appeared interested in the conversation. Cyrus
stroked his head, then stood up.
"Let's go ahead with this marrying, if you say so. But where's the fun
of it?"
"Oh, in doing such a beautiful thing--and being better."
"There's no great fun in being better. We are good enough already."
"Oh, Cyrus! Nobody is good enough already except our fathers and
mothers and ministers."
Ruth's manner was solemn. The responsibility of the enterprise seemed
to rest entirely on her own shoulders. While she was deciding, with far
away look, on the next step, Cyrus said:
"There's a big circus picture on Mr. Wade's barn, just stuck up this
morning. It has a great big tiger crawling up an elephant, and soldiers
fighting Indians, all big, in splendid colors! Come over and see it."
Ruth frowned. In her very pretty eyes, as she turned them in sadness on
the prospective groom, was pity--the almost tearful yet contemptuous
pity with which Wisdom looks on Folly.
"Cyrus, you are just a boy. You don't understand things."
"Don't understand what things?"
"How important this marriage is."
"Oh, that's all right. I'm ready. Let's go ahead now and have it over
with. What do we do first?"
"We must go in to father and ask him to marry us, just as he did those
people this morning."
"All right. Come along."
As the two children entered the house, Zac with a bark of joy bounced
into the hall ahead of them. It was a loud bark, a piercing, youthful
bark, that might disturb a dozen clergymen if working on their sermons.