To my delight I found that the coming of runaway couples to Gretna Green
was not entirely a matter of the past, for the very evening I arrived a
blushing pair came to the inn and inquired for a "meenister." The ladye
faire was a little stout and the worthy swain several years older than my
fancy might have wished, but still I did not complain.

The landlord's boy was dispatched to the rectory around the corner and
soon returned with the reverend gentleman.

I was an uninvited guest in the little parlor, but no one observed that
my wedding-garment was only a cycling costume, and I was not challenged.

After the ceremony, the several other witnesses filed past the happy
couple, congratulating them and kissing the bride.

I did likewise, and was greeted with a resounding smack which surprised
me a bit, but I managed to ask, "Did you run away?"

"Noo," said the groom; "noo, her was a widdie--we just coom over fram
Ecclefechan"; then, lowering his voice to a confidential whisper, "We're
goin' baack on the morrow. It's cheaper thaan to ha' a big, spread
weddin'."

This answer banished all tender sentiment from me and made useless my
plans for a dainty love-story, but I seized upon the name of the place
whence they came.

"Ecclefechan! Ecclefechan! Why that's where Carlyle was born!"