“Oh, yes, dear sir; if you make them wait until the time of probation is out, it will bring the wedding to the middle of November—sad November, which is always gloomy enough in itself and is now doubly gloomy to us from its associations. Three times Anna’s marriage has been appointed to take place in November, and three times it has been defeated—twice by death, and once—but we will say no more of that. Let us change the month and even the season, dear sir. Let the marriage come off in May—this next May it is now beautiful spring—the best season in the year for a wedding and a wedding tour. Let them marry and go; and you and I and little Leonard will stay here and have a good time this summer. In autumn they will return and join us again. And early in the winter we will all go up to Washington and live at Cedarwood during the season. Dear uncle, I do think you had better let them get their wedding tour over this summer. You will miss Anna very much less in summer than in winter.” “That is very true,” said the General, reflectively. “And you will let them marry in May?” eagerly inquired Drusilla. “Ah! I don’t know. I cannot move in the matter unless the young gentleman does. I cannot fling my granddaughter at Mr. Dick Hammond’s head!” “Oh, uncle! how can you say such things? You know poor Dick is tongue-tied on that subject for the present, by your probation, as well as by his sense of honor. He _cannot_ speak of this without your leave. But only give him leave by a glance, a nod, a hint, and he will be on his knees to you to grant his suit and shorten his probation,” said Drusilla. “Hem! Suppose you give the glance, nod, or hint, that may be required for the encouragement of this despairing lover?” proposed the General, archly. “That I will, with all my heart and soul,” replied Drusilla, warmly. The next day at noon, while Drusilla was walking beside her baby’s carriage out on the lawn, Dick, with his fishing rod over his back, sauntered up to her. Drusilla dropped behind so as to let the carriage and the nurse get far enough ahead to be out of hearing, and then she said: “Dick, I think if you will ask our uncle to release you from your promise of silence on a certain subject, that he will do so.” “Drusilla, do you really think he will? If I thought so, if I was sure he would not banish me at once from Anna’s side, I would ask him this moment!” exclaimed Dick, his eyes dancing with eagerness. “He will not banish you. Why should he? You will _break_ no promise to him; you will only ask him if he sees fit to _release_ you from your promise of silence on a certain subject. I think he will give you leave to speak on that subject. And, furthermore, when you do speak, I think he will listen to you favorably.” “Oh, Drusilla! do you? Do you think so, indeed? If I thought so, I should be the luckiest dog and the happiest man in existence.”