As we walked homeward that night, I expressed my wish to have the marriage a judicial ceremony. "I make no objection to having the service read by a clergyman," I explained, "but I prefer to employ the highest legal authority in the county--a judge, if possible. However, I will leave it all to Zulime. As an individualist I consider her a full and equal partner in all phases of this enterprise. I do not expect her to even promise to obey me, but I hope she will always find my requests reasonable--if she does not, she has the right to ignore them. Her signature shall be as good as mine at the bank." This statement startled the banker, for he held rather old-fashioned ideas concerning women and money; but Zulime was his favorite child, and he hastened to assure me that she would not waste my substance. "I think we can induce the district judge to come over and perform the ceremony," he concluded. If my notion to employ a judge of the district shocked my bride, she artfully deceived me, for she cheerfully consented, and a day or two later, with her brother Florizel for a guide, I drove over to the county town and laid my request before Judge Sturgis of the District Court. The judge knew Don Carlos and (as a reader of the magazines) had some knowledge of me; therefore he at once declared his willingness to assist. "It will be an honor," he added heartily; "I'll adjourn court if necessary. You may depend on me." He also agreed to meet our wishes as to the character of the ceremony. "I'll make it as short as you like," he said. "I'll reduce it to its lowest legal terms," and with this understanding I procured my license and returned to Hanover. In spite of all these practical details the whole adventure seemed curiously unreal, as though it concerned some other individual, some character in one of my novels. It was a play in which I acted as manager rather than as leading man. There was nothing in all this preparation which remotely suggested any of the weddings in which I had been concerned as witness, and I suspect that Zulime was almost equally unconvinced of its reality. Poor girl! It was all as far from the wedding of her girlish dreams as her bridegroom fell short of the silver-clad knight of romance, but I promised her that she would find something grandiose and colorful in our wedding journey. "Our wedding will be prosaic, but wait until you see the sunset light on the Crestones! Our week in the High Country shall be a poem." This was a characteristic attitude with me. I was always saying, "Wait! These flowers _are_ lovely, but those just ahead of us are more beautiful still." Zulime's attitude, as I soon discovered, was precisely opposite: "Let us make the most of the flowers at our hand," was her motto.