“Well, if you knew I was one you ought to know I’d want a Methodist to marry me.  ’Twas a Methodist married me afore.”

“Humph!  What do you suppose I care who married you before?  I’m the one that’s goin’ with you to be married now; and if I was married by anybody but a Baptist minister I wouldn’t feel as if I was married at all.”

“Well, I shan’t be married by no Baptist.”

“No Methodist shall marry me.”

“Now, look here, Hannah—­”

“I don’t care, Caleb.  You ain’t done nothin’ but contradict me since we started.  I’ve been settin’ up all night, and I’m tired out, and there’s a draft comin’ in ’round these plaguy curtains right on the back of my neck.  I’ll get cold and die and you’ll have a funeral on your hands instead of a weddin’.  And I don’t know’s I’d care much,” desperately.

Caleb choked down his own irritation.

“There, there, Hannah,” he said, “don’t talk about dyin’ when you’re just gettin’ ready to live.  We won’t fret about the minister business.  If worst comes to worst I’ll give in to a Baptist, I suppose.  One reason I did figger on goin’ to a Methodist was that, I bein’ of that faith, I thought maybe he’d do the job a little cheaper for us.”

“Cheaper?  What do you mean?  Was you cal’latin’ to make a bargain with him?”

“No, no, course not.  But there ain’t any sense in heavin’ money away on a parson more’n on anybody else.”

“Caleb Hammond, how much do you intend givin’ that minister?”

Mr. Hammond stirred uneasily on the seat of the carryall.

“Oh, I don’t know,” he answered evasively.

“Yes, you do know, too.  How much?”

“I don’t know.  Two or three dollars, maybe.”

“Two or three dollars!  My soul and body!  Is two dollars all you’re willin’ to give up to get married?  Is that all the ceremony’s worth to you?  Two dollars!  My soul!”

“Oh, let up!  I don’t care.  I’ll—­I’ll—­” after a desperate wrestle with his sense of economy.  “I’ll give him whatever you say—­in reason.  Eh! . . .  What’s that foolhead horse stoppin’ for now?  What in the tunket’s the matter with him?”

The matter was simply that in his hasty harnessing Mr. Hammond had but partially buckled one of the girths, and the horse was now half-way out of the shafts, with the larger part of the harness well up towards his ears.  Caleb groaningly climbed down from the seat, rummaged out and lit the lantern, which he had been thoughtful enough to put under the seat before starting, and proceeded to repair damages.  This took a long time, and in getting back to the carryall he tore a triangular rent in the back of his Sunday coat.  He had donned his best clothes to be married in, and, to add to his troubles, had left his watch in the fob-pocket of his everyday trousers, so they had no means of knowing the time.

“That’s a nice mess,” he grumbled, taking off his coat to examine the tear by the light of the lantern.  “Nice-lookin’ rag-bag I’ll be to get married.”