"We ought to be goin' to the parson, 'stead of your goin' to that thar school," he said. He urged her again to fix the time for their marriage. Deely still demurred. "I'm only nineteen," she answered. "I reckon I won't be too old if I do wait a while." Dennie was very much put out by her obduracy. "I don't know what to make out'n the way you go on," he complained. "Mebbe you're goin' to that thar school, after all." "'Twouldn't be strange if I did," said she, although she had in reality abandoned the thought. He persisted in urging his wishes; she continued in a contrary mood; and Dennie at last refused to talk. They completed their walk to the house of the hymeneal merrymaking in a bitter silence, both very miserable. But Deely possessed the advantage of expressing her unhappiness by means of the greatest gayety, while Dennie had to fall back upon the more ordinary masculine resource of looking glum and morose. There was an abundance of corn-whiskey and of "common doin's," as well as of "chicken fixin's" with other delicacies, at the supper and dance which followed the brief formality of the wedding-service. The simple-hearted and jolly guests proceeded to have a very good time; and while the bride and groom remained in one corner, happy at being ignored, the rest shuffled to and fro in a lively jig, stamping their heels, indulging in sundry gratuitous capers, and shouting with laughter. Dennie, meanwhile, devoted a much closer attention than was needful to the corn-whiskey, the forcible quality of which he could have ascertained by a single drink. It may have been due to his diligence in reducing the supply of the beverage that, as the hilarity of the others increased, and as Deely grew more and more excited with the dance, his depression and gloom deepened portentously. He had taken no part in the dancing, and had begun by affecting to watch Deely's energetic share in it with indifference. But it was impossible for him to keep up this pretence, and the climax came when he saw his betrothed giving her hand for the third or fourth time to Dan Billings, a handsome young fisherman against whom she knew that Dennie cherished a special grudge. Dennie stepped forth upon the floor that trembled with the heavy tread of the athletic revellers, and, shoving his way between the astonished pairs of youths and maidens, struck a commanding posture. "This hyar's enough!" he screamed, confronting Deely. "It's time to go home; and I'm goin' to take ye with me right now. D'ye hear?" Tho old fiddler, mounted on a box at one side of the room, stopped the frantic discord he had been sawing from the strings, and began mechanically to rosin his bow with a lump of the best virgin-pine rosin. "I could ha' heard you if you'd stayed over t'other side," Deely retorted, her dark cheeks flaming angrily; "if you war goin' to shout out so, what do you want to come so close?"