He turned and smiled into the girl's face. But he saw no mirth, only surprise and disapproval as the lovely eyes looked into his own. He was learning his first lesson in the noble art of suppressing humor in the presence of humorous things when taken seriously. And he blushed at his own frivolity. Moreover, his sympathy for the much married Solomon did not weaken his allegiance to the girl beside him. There was, to be sure, a peculiar excitement in the idea of sitting at breakfast with seven hundred Ruths entirely his own. Yet, somehow, the vision daunted him. Even the vision of a hundred Ruths, all just alike, filled him with a kind of awe--an awe of more things than he could ever live up to. Seeking courage and consolation, he looked down into the face of Zac as a companion more like himself--on a lower spiritual plane. Zac, still sitting in front of them, always looking earnestly into the face of whoever was speaking, appeared interested in the conversation. Cyrus stroked his head, then stood up. "Let's go ahead with this marrying, if you say so. But where's the fun of it?" "Oh, in doing such a beautiful thing--and being better." "There's no great fun in being better. We are good enough already." "Oh, Cyrus! Nobody is good enough already except our fathers and mothers and ministers." Ruth's manner was solemn. The responsibility of the enterprise seemed to rest entirely on her own shoulders. While she was deciding, with far away look, on the next step, Cyrus said: "There's a big circus picture on Mr. Wade's barn, just stuck up this morning. It has a great big tiger crawling up an elephant, and soldiers fighting Indians, all big, in splendid colors! Come over and see it." Ruth frowned. In her very pretty eyes, as she turned them in sadness on the prospective groom, was pity--the almost tearful yet contemptuous pity with which Wisdom looks on Folly. "Cyrus, you are just a boy. You don't understand things." "Don't understand what things?" "How important this marriage is." "Oh, that's all right. I'm ready. Let's go ahead now and have it over with. What do we do first?" "We must go in to father and ask him to marry us, just as he did those people this morning." "All right. Come along." As the two children entered the house, Zac with a bark of joy bounced into the hall ahead of them. It was a loud bark, a piercing, youthful bark, that might disturb a dozen clergymen if working on their sermons. Ruth stopped. "Hush, you horrid dog!" "Zac, shut up!" said Cyrus. "Go back, and stay on the porch." But Zac preferred to accompany the expedition. Without openly refusing to obey, he merely bounced about, just out of reach, wagged his tail and smiled in the faces of the bride and groom. "Shall we let him come?" said Cyrus. Ruth hesitated, but only for an instant. "No. A dog barking at a wedding would be unreligious."