“Do you?” he asked, a bright look coming into his face. “Well, I’ll tell you what we will do. We will go and be married before we go home, then I can take you to mother, for she will be my mother too, then. Will you, Brightie?” “Yes, indeed, we will,” replied Dora. “Then my name will be Dora Ellerton, won’t it? I think it’s a real pretty name, too. But who will marry us, Robbie?” “I don’t know. I guess Squire Moulton will; he’s justice, or something. Any way, I’ll ask him. Come, get up, old Prince, for we are going to be married.” He touched the horse lightly with the whip, and these two children, so full of their fun and mischief, laughed, chatted, and planned for the future, little dreaming of the sorrow and misery they were about to entail upon themselves. At length they rode up the broad drive-way, and stopped before the squire’s elegant country seat. He was not in, the man said, who opened the door for them, but guessed they would find him somewhere about the grounds. “Well, no matter,” said Robert, who was beginning to feel a little embarrassed with his strange errand. “We will go and find him.” And taking Dora by the hand, they strolled down one of the beautiful walks until they came to a rustic arbor. On looking within they discovered a little bent man of about fifty, with sharp black eyes and grizzly hair. He looked up crossly as they entered, and demanded what they wanted, in a tone that made Dora shrink closer to Robert’s side. “Are you Squire Moulton, sir?” asked Robert, respectfully. “Yes, I’m Squire Moulton. What is it?” he replied sarcastically mimicking the boy’s manner. “We’ve come to be married; that’s what we want,” said Dora, smartly, at the same time snapping her large eyes angrily at him. “Come to be married, indeed! Ha! ha! ha!” The little gray-headed old man went off into a paroxysm of laughter that made the echoes ring all over the grounds, while his evil black eyes glowed with the intensity of his merriment. “And pray,” he continued, when he could find breath to speak, and looking amusedly at the youthful pair before him, “who are you, and what may be the names of the parties who wish to assume the hymeneal yoke?” And he laughed again. “My name is Dora Dupont, and Robbie’s is Robert Ellerton, and you needn’t laugh, either, for we’ve been engaged this long time.” There was a sudden change in the man’s manner, and he repeated, with a dark scowl, looking first at one, then the other. “Been engaged this long time, have you?” “Yes, we have, and if you won’t marry us, we can go to some one else. Robbie is rich, and I guess he can pay for it, so you needn’t be afraid about that.” The indignant little lady’s face was of a crimson hue, and her blue eyes snapped fire, while she enforced her speech with a stamp of her tiny foot, as she stood erect and defiant before him.