"Well, I dunno why not. He'll be gettin' restless in a month or so.
You might as well be married up there as anywhere. We've got a good
minister--a fust-rate one."

She smiled a little wistfully. "He won't have me," she said.

"Shucks!" said Uncle William. "You come up, and if he don't marry you, I
will."

A bell sounded somewhere. She started. "I must go." A thought crossed
her face. "I wonder if you would like it--the recital?" She was looking
at him, an amused question in her eyes.

"Is it speaking pieces?" said Uncle William, cautiously.

"Playing them, and singing--one or two. It's a musicale, you know. You
might like it--" She was still thinking, her forehead a little wrinkled.
"They are nice girls and--Oh--?" the forehead suddenly lifted, "you
_would_ like it. There are sea-pieces--MacDowell's. They're just the
thing.--" She held him hospitably.--"Do come. You would be sure to enjoy
it."

"Like enough," said Uncle William. "It takes all kinds of singing to
make a world. I might like 'em fust-rate. And it won't take long?"

"No--only an hour or two. You can leave _him_, can't you?" The pretty
forehead had wrinkled again.

"Easy as not," said Uncle William. "Best thing for him. He'll have a
chance to miss me a little."