Louis' birthday came on the 24th of June, and it seemed very appropriate to me that this should be the day of our wedding, and, as I said to him; the day named itself, and it also came on Sunday. I had no thought of being married in the old church, but Louis was positive that it would be best.

"You know," he said, "that all these good people around us feel an interest very natural to those who are acquainted with everybody in their own little town. They will enjoy our marriage in the church where all can come and none be slighted, and the evening after they can be invited to call on us at home."

"Oh, Louis!" I said, "I would much rather go quietly over to Mr. Davis'."

"Yes, Emily," he replied, "to take one of our pleasant walks over the hill and step in there; but after all I can see how it will be wiser for us not to be selfish in this matter. Never mind how we feel: these friends of ours are of much account, and the many new thoughts that brighten their existence as well as our own must fall, I believe, on us as a people as well as individually. A private wedding will cause unkind remarks, and perhaps unpleasant feelings, and idle conjectures may grow to be stern realities. Let us avoid all this, and as we have heretofore been among them, let us still keep our vessel close to the shore of their understanding, though we may often drift out into the ocean unseen by them, and gather to ourselves the pearls of new and strengthening thought 'Let him who would be chief among you be your servant.' Do you understand me?"

"I do, Louis, and 'Emily will do it,' for she knows you are right; but I should never have thought of it; and now another important consideration."

"The bridal robe?" said Louis.

"Yes," I said, "just that; the thought of being elaborately dressed is distasteful to me as well as unsuited to our desires, for a wedding display would certainly arouse the spirit of envy if nothing more."

"Trust that to little mother, Emily; she desires to have that privilege, I know."

"Let it be so."

And here we fixed the arrangement for the birthday and wedding day to be one; but it came on a Sunday, and hence the necessity of a talk with Mr. Davis, which resulted in the arranging for a short afternoon sermon, and after it the ceremony. We were not to enter the church until the proper moment, and Ben said he could manage it, for when the minister began his last prayer he would climb the rickety ladder into the old square box of a belfry and hang out a yard of white cloth on a stick.

"And then," he added, "you can jump right into the wagon and be there in three minutes."

He was the most perfect boy to plan at a moment's notice, but Louis told him not to hazard his life on the belfry ladder for we could manage it all without.

"And besides," he said, "you, Ben, must walk into church with us; we are not going unprotected. Hal and Mary, Ben and little mother, and Mr. Minot with his wife and Aunt Hildy. That is the programme as I have it."

You should have seen those eyes of the young farmer dilate with surprise as he gave a long and significant whistle and turned toward home, doubtless thinking to surprise Hal and Mary with this new chapter in his experience.

The 10th day of June brought us a letter from Aunt Phebe with news of her marriage.

"Weddins don't never go alone more'n funerals," said Aunt Hildy. "Here Miss Hungerford's been married since February, and we've just heard tell of it. Hope she's got a good, sensible man, but 'taint likely; no two very sensible folks get very near each other, that is, for life. She's a good woman. What does he do to git a livin'?"

"Teaches school," I replied.

"Hem!" said she, "school teachers don't generally know much else. Eddicated men aint great on homelife; they want a monstrous sight of waitin' on."

"Let us hope for the best in this case," said I. "Here comes Matthias; he knows Mr. Dayton, I believe."

"Yas, Miss Em'ly, I does," said Matthias, who heard my last remark.

"Is he a nice man?"

"Um, um! reckin that jes' hits dat man; why, de good Lord bress us ef dat man ha'nt done, like he was sent, fur de slaves, Miss Em'ly. He knows jes' whar dat track is,—de down-low track, I means, whar de 'scapin' from de debbil comes good to dese yere people when dey gits free. Mas'r Sumner an' a'heap mo' on 'em would jes' like fur to kill dat Mas'r Dayton ef dey could cotch him. Preaches like mad his ablishun doctrine, as he call it, an' down on rum, sure sartin. He works jes' all de time fur de leas' pay you never heard tell of. Is he comin' up yere?"

"I hope so, some time; but he is Aunt Phebe's husband now, and we want to know something about him."

"I reckin dat ye needn't be oneasy, honey, 'bout dat, fur Miss Hungerford is 'zackly de one fur to take ker ob dat man; he's got his head 'way up 'mong de stars, an' 'way down in de figgerin' mos' all de time."

"Do you mean that he is an astronomer, Matthias?"

"Dunno nothin' 'bout dat, but he looks into de stars straight through a shiny pipe, Miss Em'ly, dat he sticks up on tree leg; an' when dem peart fellers In dat college where dey lives, gits into figgerin whar dey's done stuck and can't do it no how, dey comes right down to dat man, an' he trabbles 'em right out ob all dese yere diffikilties. Um, um! dat man knows a heap ob dem tings. Miss Hungerford's all right. 'Pears like dere's good deal ob marryin' roun' de diggins."

"You set the example," I said, "and the rest must follow. Louis and I expect your hearty congratulations when our day comes to step out of the world."

"You kin 'pend on good arnest wishes for a heap o' comfort, Miss Em'ly, but 'stead o' leavin' the world you jes' gits into it; dunno nothin' 'bout livin' till ye hev to min' eberything yourself. But I 'spect you'll walk along purty happy-like, fur Mas'r Louis he's done got hevin right in his soul, an' you, Miss Em'ly, 'pears like you's good enough fur him."

And the old man stood before me like a picture, his eyes beaming with the thoughts which filled his soul, utterance to which he could not wholly give; and I thought they grew like a fire within him, and that some day, beyond the pale of human life, they would speak with force and power, and all the buds of beauty there burst into flowers of eternal loveliness. And I said to him, as he rose to go:

"Your good wishes are worth much to me; I want you always for my faithful friend."

"Dat's jes' what I'se gwine to be," he replied, and as he passed along the path, I thought I saw the corner of his coat sleeve near his eye.

The 24th of June was a royal day. The blue sky flecked with fleecy clouds sailing over us like promises; the air sweet with the mingling breath of flowers (we had multitudes of them about us). The south wind came up to us as pleasant breaths that sought our own, and the robins and blue-birds sang in the trees all day the song, "It is well." My heart echoed their music, and I moved in a dream, and when I felt Clara's fingers wandering over my hair I could not realize that her noble Louis was waiting to claim me as his wife—plain Emily Minot. But the blue-birds' "It is well" covered all these thoughts.

"Just a white dress, Emily, and violets to fasten your hair," said Clara, "which I will coax to curl for this one day."

And so, from under her hands, I came in a simple toilette of white mull, with my much-loved violets fastened at my throat and nestling among my black hair. Not a jewel save the ring that Louis had given me in the days before, and the chain, which was just one shining thread about my throat. I must have looked happy, but more than this I could not see, even though I hazarded a long, full look in Clara's mirror.

But Louis, ah! he should have stood beside a princess, I thought. It was contrast, not comparison, when I stopped to realize the difference. It was not his garb that made him regal, for he was clad in a suit of simple black with a vest and necktie of spotless white.

"A violet or two in your coat lappel?" said Clara.

"No, no, little mother; my royal rose begirt with violets will stand beside me. Put them in your own brown hair."

And he smiled, as taking them from her hand he placed them in her hair.

"Just a veil over your head, little mother; no bonnets among the wedding party."

Aunt Hildy insisted at first that she could not "parade around that church and stand up there before the minister. I'd feel like a reg'lar idiot, Louis."

At last she changed her mind, but preferred to walk with Ben, and he, who always loved her well, did not object.

So our entrance by one of the side aisles (the body of the church was filled with pews) was in the following order: Father, mother and Clara, Louis and Emily, Hal and Mary, and Ben and Aunt Hildy. The latter would walk to the church anyway, and when our old carryall reached the door, I felt like screaming to see her sitting there on the steps fanning herself with her turkey-feather fan and waiting for us to appear. We all entered with uncovered heads, and as our feet crossed the threshold the choir sang one verse of "Praise ye the Lord." Mr. Davis had descended from his pulpit and stood before it upon a little elevated platform arranged for special occasions. Mother, father and Clara passed him where he stood, leaving the place for Louis and myself before him, with Hal and Mary, Ben and Aunt Hildy at Louis' left. It was a short and beautifully-worded ceremony, and when my eyes, already moist, looked upward to the pulpit and noticed a drapery of rose and vine which encircled it, those same tears fell fast over my cheeks, and while Louis' "I will" fell as a clear and strong response upon the air, my own assent was given silently and with only a slight bowing of my head, my lips murmuring not a syllable. After pronouncing us man and wife, Mr. Davis, at Louis' request, gave an invitation to all our friends to call on us the following evening, and again the choir and the people sang sweetly and with great feeling, as, turning, we passed down the opposite aisle toward the door.

When about half way to the door I was conscious of seeing Aunt Peg and Matthias; a moment more, and she with her white apron, and he with his high hat full of roses, were walking before us and throwing them in our path.

When we reached the door they stepped to either side, and still throwing roses, Matthias said in a tone I shall never forget:

"May de days do for ye jes' what we's doin' now, scatter de roses right afore ye clear to de end ob de journey."

This touched our hearts, and when we got into the carryall all eyes were moist, and I of course was crying as if my best friend were dead. Aunt Hildy said:

"Lord-a-massy! wonder he hadn't hit us in the head; that's the queerest caper I ever did see."

We all laughed heartily, and Louis said:

"My Emily, you are a rainbow of promise; the sun shines through your tears."

We had made preparations to receive our friends Monday evening, and had huge loaves of cake awaiting with lemonade, and something warm for those who desired it. An ancient service of rare and unique design was brought out by Clara for the occasion. It belonged to her husband's family in France and came to him as an heirloom. The contrast between it and the mulberry set which mother gave me struck me as singular, but the flowers and figures of the mulberry ware did not fall into insignificance. They were to me the embodiment of beauty. Among my earliest disappointments was the giving of grandmother's china to Hal, and I cried for "just one saucer," and this was a fac-simile and met a hearty appreciation. I bedewed it with tears, and Aunt Hildy said it was dretful dangerous to give me anything, and she should'nt try it.

"You'll want two or three handkerchiefs to cry on to-night, for the folks'll bring over a lot o' things to you."

"I do not expect a single present, neither desire any if I have to make a speech," I said.

"Keep close to me, Emily," said Louis, "and I will make the speeches if it becomes a duty."

I feared Clara would get tired out, but she said:

"Oh, no, they will come early, you know, and go away early also, and with you and Louis to hold me up I shall be borne on wings!"

At six o'clock they began to appear. We had our supper at four, and were ready to receive them. Louis and I sat in Clara's sitting-room, and Aunt Hildy said:

"It's my business to 'tend to the comin' in. 'Better to be a door-keeper in the house of the Lord, than dwell in the tents of wickedness;' so that's settled." And with this she established herself in a chair before the open door. Mother was near to assist, and I smiled to hear Aunt Hildy repeat:

"Good arternoon; lay by your things," until I thought her lips must be parched with their constant use. I was not prepared for the demonstration of love and friendship coming from these people of our town; for, until Louis and Clara came to us, I had, as I told you in the beginning of my story, not longed for their society, and had found few for whom I really cared. It was only from learning my duty, when my eyes, with the years and the wisdom Clara brought, were opened, that I could see the advantage gained by considering with respect even those whom I had dominated as selfish. Miserly and mean Jane North had grown into a different woman, and Deacon Grover had left us, blessing the love and strength of this wisdom which brought peace to cover the last hour of struggle; and many hearts, in the quiet ministering of one angel, had been touched. Home friends were growing round us I knew, but I had no realization of things as they really were, and the events of this greeting gave me a substantial evidence which was to my soul a platform. On it I reared a temple of love, and in the windows of my temple every face and heart and gift were set, as pure crystal in the sash of delightful remembrance.

First came the Goodins, and their hands yielded to us thoroughly appreciated gifts: one dozen linen towels spun, woven and bleached by the hands of Mrs. Goodwin; her husband adding for Louis the solid silver knee and shoe buckles his grandfather wore when a revolutionary officer, the trusty sword that hung by his side, and his uniform coat with its huge brass buttons, with the trunk of red cedar where for years they have been kept.

"Thank you," we both said simultaneously, and they passed along for others to come near. Not one of all that country town forbore to come and bring also tokens of their kindly feeling. Among the early arrivals was Jane North. I heard Matthias say:

"Be ye goin' to tote it in there?" and, as Jane answered resolutely, "I certainly am," I looked toward the door to see what it was that was approaching. At my feet Matthias dropped his burden, and the donor said:

"There is a goose-feather bed and a pair of pillows, and I picked every feather of 'em off my geese; them two linen sheets and two pair of piller-cases done up with 'em I made myself. I want you to use that bed in your own room, Mis' De-Mond (I started to hear that name applied to myself), and for the sake of the good Lord who sent salvation to me through your blessed mother-in-law, in prayer for yourself don't never forget me. I've said all the hateful things I ever mean to."

She held her hands out to us both, and we mingled our tears of gratitude with those that filled her eyes.

"Thank you," I said.

"God bless your true heart," said Louis, "and may your last days be your happiest."

"Amen," said Jane, and she passed into the next room, Matthias putting the present in a corner where it would take less space. Mr. Davis followed her, and beside him stood a clock which father had helped him to bring in.

"This clock, my young friends, is the one which has stood in the corner of my study for years. I have taken an especial pride in its unvarying correctness, and the man in the moon is unfailing in his calculation, showing his face at the appropriate season. The clock's tick is strong and well becomes the old veteran, and the coat of mahogany he wears is one that can never need a stitch. To you, above all others, I would yield this treasure; it is worth far more to me than any gift I might purchase, and I know that you," turning to Louis, "rejoice in keeping bright the old-time landmarks linking forever the past and the present."

This brought Louis to his feet, and Clara and myself rose too, for his arms encircled us.

"Mr. Davis," he said, grasping his outstretched hand, "you have done me great honor; may I have the pleasure to retain through endless ages the confidence you place in me and my blessed wife, my Emily."

"The years will brighten the lustre of your true heart," said Mr. Davis; and here his wife handed me a patchwork quilt, while her husband said:

"May your lives and loves be welded by a double chain as long as my wife's handiwork shall last."

It seemed to me I could not bear all this, and when father came forward at this moment and handed me a deed of some of his best land, I should, I believe, have screamed had not Louis' hand held me tightly. Gifts multiplied like flakes of falling snow, until we were surrounded by them. I can only mention a few more, and before me rise plainly now the faces of Aunt Peg and Matthias, as bowing low before me they laid at our feet their offerings.

"Only jest a little intment; that's all they is when we looks at the rest; but we wanted to bring you sunthin'," said Aunt Peg.

A beautiful mat bordered with her own choice of bright colors, a clothes-basket made by Matthias, and in the latter three pairs of beautifully-knitted wool stockings for Louis.

"Peg spun dis wool," said Matthias, "an' de stockins is good: dis baskit," he added despairingly, "I tried my bes' to put some sky color on, but I reckin ef de bluin' bottle had jes' spill over it 'twould do more colorin' and better too. May de Lord help ye to live an' war it out, and then I'll make another."

"That was a good speech," said Louis, and we shook hands with these two white-hearted friends, and they also passed on out of sight, leaving me still at the mercy of the coming.

It seemed to me there could be nothing more to come, when a loud "baa, baa" started us, and Ben appeared, leading the whitest little lamb you ever saw. He had tied a blue ribbon about its neck, and it trotted along up to us as if pleased with the novelty of its situation.

"Your namesake and my gift," said Ben. I was truly surprised, but thanked him heartily, and the friends about us laughed immoderately. This caused the lamb to look for some way out, and Ben went with it at a quick pace, shouting back, "I raised Emily myself, and she's a beauty." The next surprise was from Hal and Mary—two pieces from the hand of my artist brother, "Love's Fawn," and "Aunt Hildy." Duplicates of these were at that time hastening across the water with Mr. Hanson, who was anxious to take a venture over for Hal. When they were placed before us, Louis and myself exclaimed admiringly:

"How beautiful!"

Aunt Hildy, who stood near, said, "There, Halbert Minot, you've done it now!" and passed, like a swift wind through the room. I feared she felt hurt, but was disarmed of this thought, for she returned in a moment, and over the statuette she threw her old Camlet cloak.

"That is my present to you two," she said, standing beside it as if empowered with authority. "To God's children I give this, and you shall share it with 'em. I make one provision," she added. "Mis' Hungerford-Dayton is to have the sleeves for carpet-rags; you can cut it up when she comes. It's all I've got to give; but the Lord will make it blest." We took this as a crowning joke; and still to me it seemed to embrace a solid something, and set me dreaming.

When the hour of ten arrived the last of our guests were leaving; and, as I stood at the door with Louis saying "Good-night," the echo of the words went ringing over the hills; and when it fluttered back, seemed to my heart to say, "It will be morning soon."

As we went into the sitting-room, Clara said: "Now that the guests have all examined my gifts, it will do for my dear ones to look also," and she led the way into our old middle-room, and pointing to the antique service, said:

"These are yours; I have them for my boy. There are false bottoms to the three largest pieces, and within them you will find the gift your father left you, Louis, to be given to you when you should become a man. I did not tell the others of this," she added. "Here, my Emily, is something you I know will prize,—the set of pearls my Louis Robert gave me on my wedding day. They are very valuable. Keep them; and if changes should ever bring want before you, you have a fortune here. See how beautiful they are." And she held up a string of large, round pearls to which clung an ornament, in shape somewhat like an anchor, of the same precious gems, two of which were pear-shaped and very large. The ear-rings and brooch were of the most exquisite pattern. I had never seen anything so beautiful, and had no word for expression, and Clara said:

"Your eyes tell it all, my royal Emily; you are tired, and the night is here."

Then, kissing us both good-night, Louis gathered her in his arms and carried her over the stairs, saying, as he turned to come down:

"Pleasant dreams, my fairy mother; your hand is a magic wand."