It was Jack's voice that finally caught my attention. I could not
see clearly on account of the leaves and tangled vines, but I
could hear.
"But we want you, and you must."
"Oh, please, do," pleaded Ruth; there was no mistaking the music
of her tones, or the southern accent that softened them.
"But what nonsense--an old duffer like me!" This was Peter's
voice--no question about it.
"We won't any of us sit down if you don't," Jack was speaking now.
"And it will spoil everything," cried Ruth. "Jack and I planned it
long ago; and we have brought you out a special chair; and see
your card--see what it says: 'Dear Uncle Peter--'"
"Sit down with you young people at your wedding breakfast!" cried
Peter, "and--" He didn't get any farther. Ruth had stopped what
was to follow with a kiss. I know, for I craned my neck and caught
the flash of the old fellow's bald head with the fair girl's cheek
close to his own.
"Well, then--just as you want it--but there's the Major and
Felicia and your father."
But they did not want any of these people, Ruth cried with a
ringing laugh; didn't want any old people; they just wanted their
dear Uncle Peter, and they were going to have him; a resolution
which was put to vote and carried unanimously, the two pink
bridesmaids and the two steel-gray gentlemen voting the loudest.
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