August 20.

It is Kate’s fault that you have not received this letter before now.  She kept it to say a few words to you about my recovery, but has at last yielded to me the pleasure of telling of something far more interesting, which has occurred since,—­not more interesting to me, but probably so to any one else.

One evening, Kate went, with everybody from the house, to see the sunset from the hills above this glen, and I lay alone in the back porch, in the twilight.  A light wagon drove up, and in two minutes a little lady had run to me, thrown herself upon her knees beside me, and pressed her sweet lips to my forehead.  It was our darling little Alice Wellspring.

Immediately following her came Mr. Ryerson, in a perfect ecstasy of laughter, and blushing.

“We’ve run away!” whispered she.

“And got married this morning!” said he.

“But where was the necessity of elopement?” I asked, bewildered,—­Kate having told me that Alice’s aunt was doing her best to “catch Ryerson for her niece,” she having had certain information upon that point from a near relative.

“Ha, ha, ha!” laughed he, slapping his knees in intense enjoyment, as he sat in his old place by my feet.  “It is a practical joke,—­one that will have in it what somebody calls the first element of wit,—­surprise.  A more astonished and mystified old lady than she will be would be hard to find!  She was so willing!”

“Don’t say anything against Aunt, Harry.  I’m safe from her now, and so are you.  She wanted such an ostentatious wedding, Charlie, that I did not like it, and Harry declared positively that he would not submit to it.  So I had just to go off quietly, and come here to Kate and you, my best friends in the world, except Walter.  After you know Harry, you won’t blame me.”

It was very rash of the child, but really I cannot blame her, as I should, if she had chosen any one else.  Ryerson is one who shows in his face and in every word and action that he is a kind and noble fellow.

Kate, to my surprise, is enchanted with this performance.  It chimes with her independent notions, but not with my prudent ones.  However, it is done, and I never saw a more satisfactorily mated couple.  It would have been a cruel pity to see that light, good little heart quelled by a morose husband, or its timidity frightened into deceitfulness by a severe one.  Now she is as fearless and courageous as a pet canary.

Ryerson has one grievous fault; he uses all sorts of slang phrases.  It makes his conversation very funny, but Alice don’t like it, especially when he approaches the profane.

He told a very good story the other day, spiced a little in language.  Everybody laughed outright.  Alice looked grave.

“What is the matter, wifey?” he called out, anxiously; for with him there is no reserve before strangers.  He seems to think the whole world kin, and himself always the centre of an attached and indulgent family.