“Ugh, don’t!” shivered Dora, as she thought of the horrid thing she had seen in the shop windows on the street. “Well, I don’t care much any way,” she continued; “but what do you suppose mamma will say?” “I rather think she will be surprised when I call her mother, for I love her dearly, and you know I never had one of my own.” His bright face fell for a moment. “I don’t believe I can ever say papa to your father. He has been so sober and cross lately I’m almost afraid of him.” “I guess he’ll get over that when he finds out what a pretty little daughter he’s got,” replied Robert, with a fond look into the lovely face of his little bride. “Here we are at home again,” he added, as he drew up before the gate. “Whoa, old Prince, till I help my wife out and take her into mother.” Old Prince stopped in obedience to the word of command, and Robert helped Dora out just as Mrs. Dupont’s smiling face appeared at the door of the cottage to welcome them home. Robert, taking Dora gravely by the hand, led her up to her mother, and said: “How do you do, mother? We’ve had a nice day, and I’ve brought my wife back to you safe and sound.” Mrs. Dupont laughed a light mocking laugh, as she said, with comic seriousness: “Happy to see you, little Mrs. Ellerton, and very glad to know you have had such a nice time.” “Very nice time, indeed, mamma,” replied Dora, with funny dignity; “only the man who married us acted so strangely that I was almost afraid of him. However, he got over it, and it’s all right now.” “Really, my dear madam,” replied her mother, still willing to humor what she thought was one of their old jokes, “who was the clergyman that married you?” “Oh, it wasn’t a minister at all, mamma, but Squire Moulton, and he gave me the certificate, and told me I must never part with it, or I couldn’t prove I was Robbie’s wife.” “Nonsense, Dora, what do you know about a marriage certificate?” “Well, but, mamma, he did, and I have it here in my pocket—haven’t I, Robbie?” “Yes,” answered Robert, now glad of a chance to say a word; “and you are really and truly my mother now. Aren’t you glad you have a son?” She did not answer; she looked first at one, then at the other with a puzzled expression, hardly knowing what to make of the affair. Both their faces were so earnest, and they talked in such a matter-of-fact way, that she could not comprehend it. At last Dora, who had been fumbling in her pocket, took out the certificate and handed it to her mother, saying, triumphantly: “There, mamma, read and see if we ain’t married, really and truly.” Mrs. Dupont was frightened, and sank down pale and faint on the door-step, the paper still folded in her fingers. “Now, Robert and Dora, if this is a joke,” she said, “you have carried it far enough; but if you are in earnest, tell me all about it at once.”