"To begin with, girls, this is Fluffy's idea, not mine! Of course none of you ever saw our Hildegarde, so I didn't suppose you would care particularly; but when I was telling the Fluffy last night, she said it was selfish and all kinds of things to keep it to ourselves, and that you must all hear about it; so if you don't find it interesting, pull out the Fluffy's feathers, not mine.

"Hildegarde Grahame—she is Hildegarde Merryweather now, but I cannot realise it yet—has been a very dear friend of ours for several years. We think there is no one like her in the world; I'll show you a picture of her by and by. Well, a year ago she became engaged to my uncle."

"Your uncle!" cried the girls. "Why, I thought she was a girl!"

"So she is a girl, but Roger—well, he is my uncle, but he isn't so very much older than I am. That is—he is twenty-five, and Hildegarde is twenty; so you see it is just exactly right. There isn't anybody like him, either. He is as near an angel as a man can come and be alive; and he is tremendously clever, really eminent already in his profession, and we all love him to distraction."

"Is he handsome?" asked Viola Vincent.

"I don't know; yes, I think he is. Not a barber-shop beauty, though. He is tall, and very strong, broad-shouldered, with the kindest eyes in the world, and a smile that makes you crinkle all over with pleasure. Well, and so they were engaged, and now they are married; the wedding was on Wednesday, and this is Friday, and here I am. Now I'll begin at the very beginning of the day. Of course we woke up early, and looked out of the window; and it was all gray and cloudy. I thought it was going to rain, and I was in the depths, but Bell—you know Bell, my sister, at college—was sure it would clear before seven, and so it did. The sun came out bright and clear, and soon we saw that it was going to be the most beautiful day that ever was. We had been out in the fields all day before, getting flowers, and we had them all ready in tubs and bowls and pitchers; so after breakfast we could go right to work on the decorations. We did the church first. It is a pretty stone church, with a good deep chancel. We filled in the back of the chancel with great ferns—mostly evergreen ferns, so that they would not wilt—and palms and things; and then we made banks and banks of asters and goldenrod,—oh, it was lovely! Most of them came from the camp-pasture, Bertha; you remember how lovely it is in September."

Bertha nodded. "I should think I did!" she said. "Most beautiful place I ever saw, except the rest of it all."

"Well, I never saw it look more beautiful than that day before the wedding, when Bell and the boys and I rode out on our wheels, and came back by moonlight, with great bundles of purple and gold tied on our backs and nodding over our heads. But all the ferns and the asters and chrysanthemums and roses came mostly from Hildegarde's own garden at Braeside, and from Roseholme, Colonel Ferrers's place. We might have carpeted the church entirely with asters, if we had wanted to; as it was, we had great garlands of them twined over the chancel rail and swinging among the ferns and goldenrod; really, I never saw so many flowers at one time in my life. When that was all done we went to the house, Braeside, the Grahames' house, to see if we could help there; but Mrs. Flower, a friend of Hildegarde's, of whom we used to be the least little bit jealous before we knew her, was there, and another friend, Miss Desmond,—she was one of the bridesmaids,—and they had everything so beautifully arranged that there was nothing for us to do but stand and admire it with all our eyes. People in New York had sent down all kinds of splendid flowers, boxes and boxes of them, so that the house was a perfect bower, and smelt like the Vale of Cashmere; but we knew very well that Hilda would like our flowers best. Then—well, a lot more presents had come since the night before, so as there was time enough before dressing, we went in to see them. I don't suppose you care about the presents, girls!"

"Oh! oh! we do!" cried the girls, in chorus. "We want to hear about every single one, Snowy."

"My dears! it would take me all night, and then I couldn't remember them all. But I'll try and tell you some of them. Let me see! Colonel Ferrers gave her a set of sapphires; the most beautiful things you ever saw. Necklace and pendant and pin, most wonderful dark blue stones, set in star-shape. And Jack Ferrers and his father gave her some wonderful Roman gold-work—I don't know how to describe it, I never saw anything like it—that Jack picked up in Europe. Then there was silver, heaps and heaps of it, from relatives in New York and I don't know where; some of it very handsome indeed, but I don't care so much about silver, do you? I remember there were ten salt-cellars, no two alike. But the things we cared for were the small presents that came from people we knew; people who loved Hildegarde, not just because she was their grandniece or something, but because she was herself. Oh, some of them were funny, girls! There were two dear old people who had come a long way to the wedding, a Mr. and Mrs. Hartley, with whom Hilda spent a summer when she was about fifteen, and whom she has been fond of ever since. I should think she would be; the old lady has a face like Raphael's grandmother—I can't think of any other way of describing it; and Mr. Hartley is simply a duck, the dearest funny old man you ever saw. Well, they brought Hilda the most beautiful toilet-set I ever saw or dreamed of,—something wonderful, all blue dragons and gilding. Papa said it was very rare; and Hilda cried when she saw it, and scolded them dreadfully for bringing it away from its own room; but still she was delighted to have it, and says she will never use any other. Then there was young Doctor Chirk,—funny name, isn't it?—Mrs. Flower's brother. Such a nice, bright, jolly fellow! Well, he was part of that same summer, it seems, and he carved a beautiful frame out of wood that grew in Hartley's Glen; and Mrs. Flower, who paints very well, had made a picture of the glen itself—lovely place!—for the frame, or I suppose the frame was made to fit the picture, no matter which; and that filled her with joy.

"Then there were the people from Bywood. My dear, Miss Wealthy Bond is the most beautiful creature I have ever seen, except two. She is just like live Dresden china, smiling and dimpling; and the dear quaint maid who came with her, Martha, had made Hildegarde's whole winter provision of jellies and jams, because 'it wasn't likely Hildegarde would have time herself this first season, and it wasn't a thing you could trust to hired help in general.' Miss Bond herself had brought china—my dear! did you ever see tortoise-shell crockery? Well, it is a most beautiful thing, and the art was lost a hundred years ago, and each piece is worth I don't know how much; but this dear old lady had a dozen plates, all hexagonal, too, and not a single point broken or chipped, and two pitchers,—well, I haven't the heart even to think of those pitchers, I wanted them so,—and they were all for Hilda, because Hilda had brought the sunshine back into her life, she told me.

"Girls, it was the same story everywhere. Mrs. Grahame being so delicate, and Hilda so busy, Bell and I were there a great deal the few days before the wedding, and we took the guests to walk and drive and so on. Everywhere it was the same story, the joy and brightness and love that this one girl had carried with her wherever she went. I never shall forget it—never.

"Then—let me see—what next? Oh! I had nearly forgotten the dear little boy, Benny, Miss Bond's adopted son. He considers Hilda his own private property, and he was furiously jealous of Roger and everybody else. When he first came it was quite sad, really, the child was so unhappy, and there was no consoling him. He wanted Hilda to sing to him and play with him just as she did when she was staying there at Bywood; and naturally she couldn't, poor dear, though it was wonderful how she managed to be with them all a little every day, and to see to almost everything, so that her mother should have no care or worry. Well, where was I? oh! the little boys. Hugh Allen, our Hugh,—I can't stop to tell you about Hugh now, but he is the dearest, queerest little fellow,—Hugh watched all this for awhile, and then he took Benny away with him, down into the garden, and they were gone a long time. And when they came back Benny marched straight up to Roger, and said, 'You are nice! you can have my girl,' and then marched off again, and went and cried, poor lamb, till Hugh comforted him.

"But I am not getting on with the presents, am I? We all gave her linen, because she had to have that, and we wanted to do something ourselves; so we, my mother and Bell and Kitty and I, hemmed every one of the table-cloths and napkins, and embroidered the marks on all the towels, and had a beautiful time over it. Mammy read to us part of the time while we sewed, all the interesting weddings that she could find in history or fiction, and that was great fun; then she wrote some funny verses to go with them, and they really were lovely patterns, so it was a nice present, though strictly necessary, you see. Oh, I haven't told you about the diamonds! Helena Desmond was so funny about them! 'Hilda,' she said, 'it was clear from the beginning that I must be offered up on the altar of diamonds. I detest diamonds. They are absolutely uninteresting; they are almost vulgar. Never mind, you have to have some, and nobody else will be stupid and commonplace enough to give them to you. I had hopes of your Aunt Emily, but she has expended herself in lace, and was so happy over it that I hadn't the heart to whisper "diamonds!" in her ear, as I had meant to do. Here they are, my child; the customary horrors!'

"Well, they were very beautiful, though I confess I should have liked pearls better for Hilda. A diamond crescent and star, really splendid. She is very rich, you know."

"Is that the great beauty?" asked a girl.

"Yes, she is superb, certainly. Next to Hilda, perhaps—but I'll come to that presently. Well, now perhaps I have told you half the things, or rather more than half; but they are the things I cared most about, you see. I can't go into a list of forks and spoons. So now I come to the wedding itself."

The girls drew a long breath and leaned forward; presents were very well, but weddings were better.

"It was at noon, of course. There were only two bridesmaids, Helena Desmond and I. Hilda said she wanted only her nearest and dearest, so she would not ask her cousins, though I fancy they had hoped to be asked. She wanted Bell, but Bell said it was positively necessary that she should play the organ, and so it was. We wore perfectly plain white muslin gowns, but, oh, they were so pretty! with soft pale green sashes, and little wreaths of ivy in our hair. Hildegarde wanted everything as simple as possible, so we didn't go into hats, or any of that kind of nonsense. Jerry—my brother Gerald—was best man, and the ushers were Phil and Willy, my other brothers, and Jack Ferrers and Doctor Chirk and Hugh Allen. Well, so the hour came.

"Helena and I were ready and waiting at Braeside when Hilda came down-stairs. Girls, you never saw anything so lovely in your lives as she was. Her dress was very simple, too, white embroidered muslin, exquisitely fine. Colonel Ferrers brought it from India, years and years ago, for a lovely young girl who died while he was on his way home. It had been made in the house, and it looked just like her, as her dresses always do. She wore a little gold pin that Roger made for her himself,—mined the gold and all,—no other ornament, and a wreath of white roses, roses that the Roseholme gardener had been nursing all summer to make them blossom just at the right time. That was his present; everybody wanted to do something, you see."

"What does she look like?" asked a girl.

"Well, you have to see her to know what she really looks like, for half of it is the expression and the look in her eyes. Gray eyes, so clear and true,—you know she couldn't say or do anything unkind or false to save her life,—and a colour just like a wild rose, and a nose,—well, it's just her own nose, tilted up a little, but perfectly delightful; and when she smiles, you think she has the most beautiful mouth in the world, though I don't suppose she really has. Here, this gives you a little idea of her; just a very little, for it doesn't begin to think of doing her justice."

The girls clustered eagerly to see the photograph, which was passed on from hand to hand. It was a lovely face, indeed, at which they looked; yet, as Gertrude said, the actual beauty was the least part of its charm. Truth and kindness shone from it; not the lightest and most foolish girl there but felt grave for a moment, meeting that steady look of cheer and constancy.

"And yet she looks awfully jolly, too!" said one, breaking the silence, and voicing the thought of all.

"My dear, she is more fun—"

"Than a goat?" asked a new voice; and Grace Wolfe slipped in quietly at the window, and, nodding to the company, took her seat on the floor.

"I have heard all!" she said. "Go on, Snowy! I see now where you got your virtues; this young woman has much to answer for."

Gertrude looked at her kindly, but said nothing; in a moment the story went on.

"We walked over to the church—it is only a few steps—just as we were, without any formal arrangement. Hilda held her mother's hand fast all the time; they were both very quiet. The dear old black cook walked with them, crying all the way. Hugh had Hilda's other hand. I—I can't tell about this part."

Gertrude's voice faltered for a moment; then she went on more steadily.

"Colonel Ferrers was waiting at the church door, with his brother, Mr. Raymond Ferrers. All the ushers were there, too, and we could see that the church was full. And, oh! just a little way from the door was a band of little girls, Hilda's sewing-class, and they all had baskets of flowers, and scattered them in front of her as she walked. I forgot to put that in where it belonged, but it was very pretty, and if you had seen the way they looked at her!

"Well, then it all seemed to happen in a moment. Mr. Raymond Ferrers took Mrs. Grahame up the aisle; and then the organ broke out with the wedding march. I have heard my sister Bell play pretty well, but never as she did then. It seemed to fill the whole world, and yet it was not too loud, either. Then the ushers went up, and then Helena and I, and then came our dear bride on Colonel Ferrers' arm. Roger was waiting at the altar steps with Gerald. He came forward to meet her, and took both her hands,—oh, with such a beautiful look in his face! and then drew her arm through his, so proud and quiet and happy, and then the service went on. They both spoke so clearly, everybody could hear them, and the ring was ready, and there was not a mistake anywhere; only both Jerry and the colonel were on the point of breaking down, both of them, and every time the colonel blew his nose I could see Jerry start and wince. And so they were married, and the music broke out again, and Roger put back the veil and kissed his wife; and—and then they came back down the aisle, and—and—and that is all!"

Gertrude had struggled hard for composure. She had nearly outgrown the childish proneness to tears, which in early days had earned her the home sobriquet of "Chelsea Waterworks;" but this recital touched her too nearly, and she had overcalculated her power of self-restraint. Her voice broke altogether, and she could only nod and smile through her tears on Bertha, who was regarding her remorsefully.

"I ought not to have made you, Toots!" said Bertha. "I did want them to hear it, it has been so beautiful. Don't cry, dear!" But Grace Wolfe came and laid her hand on Gertrude's shoulder, and spoke in a tone one hardly ever heard in that voice.

"Don't stop her!" she said, gravely. "Let her cry! It's good for her—and for all of us! Snowy, your friend is a blessed creature, and you are another."

No one spoke for a few moments. Peggy was crying quietly in her corner, and feeling that she had been at the wedding herself, and wondering what she should possibly do if Margaret should ever get married.

But now the Snowy Owl wiped away her tears in good earnest, and spoke in her own cheerful tones.

"Come, this will never do. Girls, we have extra time to-night, Miss Russell was so kind when I told her what I wanted to do; but even that time will be up if we don't mind. Volunteers to toast marshmallows!"

Instantly there was a rush and a cry. A dozen hands were stretched out. Hat-pins appeared, as if by magic, brandished on every side. In another moment a dozen marshmallows were frizzling over the gas-jets, while the student lamp did duty for several more. As soon as one was done, it was popped, hissing hot, into an open mouth, and the hat-pin, charged with another freight, returned to the charge. Cries of mingled joy and anguish rose on every side.

"Oh, I am burnt entirely! The skin is all off my lips."

"Here, for me one!"

"No, she has had two already! Fluffy, my turn next!"

It was a merry Babel. The fun rose higher and higher. Peggy dried her eyes, and looked on wondering. How could they hear each other? They were all talking at once, each one faster than the other.

"My dear! Perf'ly fine, wasn't it? Oh, I do love to hear a tell—"

"When my cousin was married, she had eight bridesmaids, and they wore just mob caps, not another thing—"

"Orange-blossoms are too sweet for anything, but they make some people—"

"Simply pea-green, my dear, with fright, and she had blue woollen socks on over her white slippers—'something blue,' you know,—and forgot to take them off—"

"Her head, and you never saw anything like it in your life. It measured three yards around, if it did—"

"A sunburst, you know, diamonds and pearls. I adore diamonds, for my part. Why, to be married without diamonds would be—"

"Simply fierce! I should die, I know I should, before I got half-way up the aisle. But to see one, and the music and flowers and all, is—"

"Dandy! perf'ly dandy! I wouldn't miss it for all the—"

"Flounces, my dear, up to the waist, as true as I sit here! and she said 'No!' She said: 'Before I'll be flounced to the waist, I'll—'"

"Marry a tin peddler! said there was nothing in the world she'd like better, because then she could—"

"Sit still the whole morning without moving a muscle, for fear of breaking her—"

"Heart, with forty pearls and sixty diamonds. Fact, I assure you, my dear! I had it from—"

"A perfect brute, not fit for any one to—"

Here, Destiny knocked on the door; the round, rosy face of Miss Carey, the housekeeper, looked in.

"Girls, you really must go to bed. Miss Russell sent me to say so. Do you know what time it is?"

Grace Wolfe slipped like a shadow out of the window and was gone unseen; the assembly broke up with laughter and cheers for the Snowy and the Fluffy, and snatches of talk bubbling all the way along the corridor. When Peggy reached her room, she found the Scapegoat already there, sitting on the floor and chanting solemnly: