Edward slept tranquilly, and in the morning at eight o'clock he was married to Elizabeth Taylor, with nobody except her grandfather and a couple of farm hands to hear their whispers of eternal fidelity, their murmured promises to have and to hold and to cherish until death. There was no shouting when they came out arm-in-arm from the church; there was nothing except the peace of a mid-summer morning, the fragrance of long grass in the churchyard, the hum of bees in the limes, and in the distance a sound of lowing cattle. The bride and bridegroom had not planned to spend their honeymoon elsewhere; indeed, they had both been so much preoccupied with the complications arising out of their simple action that they had thought of nothing beyond the achievement of the wedding. When old James Taylor asked them where they intended to pass the night, neither of them could reply for the moment. At length Edward spoke: "I have to explain, Mr. Taylor, that yesterday I had a very unpleasant scene with Sir Richard, who ordered me out of his house forever." "A' look now, that's Sir Richard sure enough," the old man nodded. "The most unreasonable man that ever owned an acre. Well, I suppose you'd better bide here." Edward explained his project to stay on and help with the farm work, at which the old man chuckled. "You can stay so long as you will, but I don't reckon you'll be much use on the farm. What's Lizzie say to it?" Elizabeth had no words to say, but worlds to look, and since all her worlds were entirely populated by Edwards, she showed plainly that she approved of anything Edward proposed to do. "'Tis no use at all to look for help from a maid, once she be tied up," the old man chuckled. "I suppose I might soberly consider myself a fool to give her to you. But give her I have. You see, Mr. Edward, you was all her fancy, and ever since my boy died, her fancy has always been mine. He was a good lad. I miss him sorely now, especially come seed-time. And couldn't he broadcast a field of oats! Oh dear, oh dear, none like him! Foxtail oats was his favorites, and wouldn't they come up thick from his sowing! But, darn'ee, do you think the young chaps can sow like that now? They cannot!" "I'm going to have a good try," Edward vowed. "A' look now, that's the way to talk, I'm bothered if it isn't," the old man exclaimed, pretending to be much impressed, while his blue eyes twinkled like the sea on a fine morning. They had reached the farmhouse by now, and when old James had hung his big beaver hat on a peg they sat down to the wedding breakfast, at which the presence of the Vicar compelled a demeanor that might otherwise have been wanting, because old James on such occasions was apt to indulge in bucolic freedom of speech.