"Yes, wouldn't it! And under it would be printed Mr. and Mrs. Ruth
Heywood."
"Oh, no! It would be Mr. and Mrs. Cyrus Alton. It's always that way."
"Then we'll be the first ones to do it the new way. We needn't do just
like everybody else. But who's going to wait fourteen years. Not us! If
your father is too busy to do it, we'll get somebody else."
"Who?"
"I dunno." And he looked away toward the common and became thoughtful.
Now Cyrus' ideas of matrimony were vague, and impersonal. As a game
it had never interested him. He had given it no attention. On some
other subject he had definite views--such as war, baseball, voyages of
discovery, balloons, maple sugar, battleships and the different kinds
of ice cream. But this marriage business, now that Ruth wanted it,
had suddenly become important. And when Ruth really wanted a thing he
felt that reason, religion and the Laws of Man and Nature should stand
aside. Moreover, Cyrus was no quitter. He was not of those who are
easily discouraged. Persistence, the sort that stiffens in disaster,
was one of his dominant traits. A precious gift on occasions; but there
were times, in the bosom of his own family, when it was not admired. As
guides to character the drowsy eyes and cherubic mouth were, in this
particular, misleading. Behind them lay the tenacity of purpose which
so often transforms defeat into victory. In this present emergency
there seemed to him especial demand for achievement. Ruth wanted
something and when Ruth wanted something it was not for him, nor for
others, to reason why.
So now, while the bride, crushed to earth, was mourning the downfall
of a high endeavor, her companion had not accepted defeat. With roving
eyes and tight shut mouth he was seeking some other road to victory.
Inspiration came.
Seeing no road to victory, up or down the village street, his eyes
turned heavenward. As they rested on the spire of the Unitarian
church, just across the way, there came an answer to his appeal. It
came through the open windows of the church--the notes of an organ. He
turned and seized his fiancée by an arm.
"Ruth! Listen!"
"To what?"
"To that music! It's Horace Phillips practising on the organ!"
Ruth nodded in acknowledgment of the fact, but she saw no relation
between the music and their late rebuff.
"We can go right over there and get married," said Cyrus. "It doesn't
matter who does it so long as it is in a church and there's music."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, of course! Ask anybody."
There was nobody to ask, so he took her by the hand and started
forward. She held back. He pulled harder. "Come along. There's the
church all open; and the organ playing. It's just the place to be
married."