er been able to make out whether he was crazy or just
a witty, practical joker. Anyway, he married the pair with something like
suitable words, wouldn't take a cent for it, and gave 'em a paper saying
he had performed the deed. It had a seal on it showing he was a genuine
notary public, though from back in Iowa somewhere. That made no
difference to the new bride and groom. A notary public was a notary
public to them, highly important and official.

"They had enough other things to worry about, anyway. They had to buckle
down to the hard life that waits for any young couple without capital in
a new country. They had years of hard sledding; but they must of had a
good time somehow, because they never have any but pleasant things to
tell of it. Whatever that notary public was, he seemed to of pulled off
a marriage that took as well or better than a great many that may be
more legal. So that's all there is to it--only, here about a year ago
they was persuaded to have it done proper at last by a real preacher who
makes Kulanche two Sundays a month. That's why the late date's on that
certificate. The old lady is right kittenish about that; shows it to
everyone, in spite of the fact that it makes her out of been leading
an obliquitous life, or something, for about thirty-eight years.

"But then, she's a sentimental old mush-head, anyhow. Guess what she told
me out in the kitchen! She's been reading what the Germans did to women
and children in Belgium, and she says: 'Of course I hate Germans; and yet
it don't seem as if I could ever hate 'em enough to want to kill a lot of
German babies!' Wasn't that the confession of a weakling? I guess that's
all you'd want to know about that woman. My sakes! Will you look at that
mess of clouds? I bet it's falling weather over in Surprise Valley. A
good moisting wouldn't hurt us any either."

That seemed to be about all. Yet I was loath to leave the topic. I still
had a warm glow in my heart for the aged couple, and I could hear Uncle
Henry's bottle of adolescent peach brandy laughing to itself from where
it was lashed to the back of my saddle. I struck in the only weak spot
in the wall.

"You say they were persuaded into this marriage. Well, who persuaded
them? Isn't there something interesting about that?"

It had, indeed, been a shrewd stroke. Ma Pettengill's eyes lighted.

"Say, didn't I ever tell you about Mrs. Julia Wood Atkins, the well-known
lady reformer?"

"You did not. We