“Amri give a very good reason for’t,” said David with an air of conviction, and then he broke into a laugh.

“Ef you got anythin’ to tell, tell it,” said Mrs. Bixbee impatiently.

“Wa’al,” said David, taking the last of his pudding into his mouth, “if you insist on’t, painful as ‘t is.  I heard Dick Larrabee tellin’ ’bout it.  Amri told Dick day before yestiday that he was thinkin’ of gettin’ married, an’ ast him to go along with him to Parson White’s an’ be a witniss, an’ I reckon a kind of moral support.  When it comes to moral supportin’,” remarked David in passing, “Dick’s as good ’s a professional, an’ he’d go an’ see his gran’mother hung sooner ’n miss anythin’, an’ never let his cigar go out durin’ the performence.  Dick said he congratilated Am on his choice, an’ said he reckoned they’d be putty ekally yoked together, if nothin’ else.”

Here David leaned over toward Aunt Polly and said, protestingly, “Don’t gi’ me but jest a teasp’nful o’ that ice cream.  I’m so full now ’t I can’t hardly reach the table.”  He took a taste of the cream and resumed:  “I can’t give it jest as Dick did,” he went on, “but this is about the gist on’t.  Him, an’ Lize, an’ Am went to Parson White’s about half after seven o’clock an’ was showed into the parler, an’ in a minute he come in, an’ after sayin’ ‘Good evenin’’ all ’round, he says, ’Well, what c’n I do for ye?’ lookin’ at Am an’ Lize, an’ then at Dick.

“‘Wa’al,’ says Am, ‘me an’ Mis’ Annis here has ben thinkin’ fer some time as how we’d ought to git married.’

“‘Ought to git married?’ says Parson White, scowlin’ fust at one an’ then at t’other.

“‘Wa’al,’ says Am, givin’ a kind o’ shuffle with his feet, ’I didn’t mean ortter exac’ly, but jest as well—­kinder comp’ny,’ he says.  ’We hain’t neither on us got nobody, an’ we thought we might ‘s well.’

“‘What have you got to git married on?’ says the dominie after a minute.  ‘Anythin’?’ he says.

“‘Wa’al,’ says Am, droppin’ his head sideways an’ borin’ into his ear ’ith his middle finger, ‘I got the promise mebbe of a job o’ work fer a couple o’ days next week.’  ‘H’m’m’m,’ says the dominie, lookin’ at him.  ‘Have you got anythin’ to git married on?’ the dominie says, turnin’ to Lize.  ‘I’ve got ninety cents comin’ to me fer some work I done last week,’ she says, wiltin’ down onto the sofy an’ beginnin’ to snivvle.  Dick says that at that the dominie turned round an’ walked to the other end of the room, an’ he c’d see he was dyin’ to laugh, but he come back with a straight face.

“’How old air you, Shapless?” he says to Am.  ’I’ll be fifty-eight or mebbe fifty-nine come next spring,’ says Am.

“‘How old air you?’ the dominie says, turnin’ to Lize.  She wriggled a minute an’ says, ‘Wa’al, I reckon I’m all o’ thirty,’ she says.”

“All o’ thirty!” exclaimed Aunt Polly.  “The woman ’s most ’s old ’s I be.”