The church bell was ringing cheerfully on Falls Hill. Indeed, on a day like that, every sound took a jubilant tone. The sunshine was so bright, the meadows and foliage so richly green, that one breathed deeply with a keen sense of enjoyment.

The birds in the pine woods made a perfect riot of music among the trees, and built their nests lovingly, in defiance of blue laws, and forgetful—as birds will be sometimes—that it was the Sabbath day. Even pretty little humming-birds came out in force that morning, and shook the trumpet honeysuckles like mad things, buzzing their wings, and setting the great bumble bees that haunted the clover fields a most indecorous example. Such quantities of fennel as was cut from the green stalks that morning and tied into dainty bunches, ready to be nibbled at in church. Such pretty bouquets of violets and wild roses were made—such lovely new bonnets and muslin dresses as appeared that day for the first time—I can neither describe or enumerate.

"What was it all about?"

Why a confirmation, a wedding, and a double baptism were to come off that day, performed by the bishop himself. No wonder all Chewstown came over from that side of the river. No wonder that Falls Hill, Bungy, and Shrub Oak—to say nothing of the factory flats—should be one scene of commotion! The wedding of itself would have been enough to set people wild. Why the bride was pretty Rose Mason, that little girl who used to live with her handsome mother down in the pine woods; the sweetest creature that the sun ever shone upon, and just as beautiful now; in fact, more so.

"Who was she going to marry?"

Did any one remember a remarkably handsome little fellow who came to board with Mrs. Allen, in Bungy, about the time that Katy Allen—well, they would not say any thing about that; poor thing, she had suffered enough—but he went to school at Shrub Oak, and was a perfect little gentleman. His name was Paul De Varney, and he had come out so rich that no one could count his gold.

There was but one thing that could be said against the match—young De Varney brought a black slave with him when he first came into the State, and kept him still, for the poor fellow had been about Bungy not two days ago, and no doubt was there yet. The bishop might have something to say about that before he would marry the young man; but it was to be hoped that it would not quite break up the match. Still, a slave in old Connecticut! that could not be thought of a moment by any Christian community. Certainly Nelson Thrasher and his wife would be confirmed—that was all settled with the bishop, who had been informed about the case thoroughly by Thrasher himself; as for his wife, people were beginning to think that after all she had been innocent about that affair. A woman that could kill her own child never yet made a wife like her. Why those old people fairly worshipped her. When old Mrs. Thrasher was sick, she never had her clothes off for weeks together. Then she was so good in sickness; always the first to offer herself, if watchers were wanted. Why Tom Hutchins might have lost his young wife if it had not been for her care. Night and day, night and day, that faithful woman was by her bedside, till the fever left her. The doctor had been heard to declare, over and over again, that he should not know how to get along with his patients if it were not for Mrs. Nelson Thrasher. Then Nelson had turned out such a sensible, steady man, for all his hard life. Yes, yes; the thing was certain; both he and his wife would be confirmed. No doubt of that.

Then about the baptism; of course that was for Tom Hutchins' twins—a girl and a boy that you could not tell apart to save your life. Tom and his wife were so proud of those young ones they never would be content till all the town had seen them in their long white christening dresses. That young fellow did make such a fool of himself. Just as if nobody had ever had twins to baptize before him.

All this gossip was pretty nearly true. The bishop had come, and was stopping at the square white house near the willow tree. Paul De Varney was staying at Mrs. Allen's with Jube. David Rice had built a large side building to the old house, since he settled on the farm, and it was plenty large enough to accommodate half a dozen guests if they could have been persuaded to stay. But when Mr. Prior the minister, and his little wife, came from Bays Hollow, bringing Rose Mason back to be married in her native village, they went directly up to old Mrs. Thrasher's and made the homestead cheerful with company.

Since the arrival of all these people in the village, Tom Hutchins, who lived in Mrs. Mason's cottage in the pine woods, had been wonderfully busy, and gave himself up to his friends more completely than could be expected of a young married man, not two months before made the father of healthy twins, good as gold and plump as partridges.

Notwithstanding this paternal drawback, Tom had made all arrangements with regard to the bishop; had seen the publishment properly laid on the pulpit cushion, ready for use, three legal Sundays, and had twice driven his steel colored colt into New Haven, to get a pair of satin slippers and a certain kind of ribbon for Rose, at which his wife pouted, and the twins, partaking of her ill humor, kept the poor fellow walking the chamber floor half the night, now with one, and then with the other, in his arms.

I am afraid Mrs. Hutchins did not, on that occasion, take quite her share of the nursing. When Tom asked her, in his distress, if she wouldn't get up and make a little fennel seed tea for the poor little things, she desired to know if it wouldn't be just as well to make that request of Rose Mason, with her curls and her gipsy hat on one side, at which Tom broke forth with energy:

"Talk about Rose Mason," he said; "the girl that was going to marry his earliest friend, one of the finest fellows on earth—a girl that was good as gold, and generous as—Oh it was too bad; he wouldn't have thought it of a wife of his—a woman that he had loved so."

"Had loved!" Mrs. Hutchins murmured, faintly. "Had loved!"

Tom's heart melted within him as he heard the low protest, but he contented himself by kissing each of the twins, while their little heads rested on his shoulders, and went on making an iron-hearted fellow of himself.

Yes, Tom meant had. No love in the world could stand such venomous attacks on that nice girl, who had given him up so handsomely. Where would she have been but for that? Breaking her heart, and pining herself to death, instead of taking her place as a respectable married person and the head of a thriving family. There was the twins, too, precious dears. Par wasn't scolding them. Where in the world would they have been if Rose had kept him to his word, as any other girl would have done?

Here Mrs. Hutchins began to sob, and said, penitently, that she hadn't meant any thing of the kind—in fact, hadn't said a single thing against Miss Rose Mason, who was breaking her heart though; and—and—oh, dear, if she'd only stayed at home with her own dear par and mar, instead of marrying a man that didn't love her, and was keeping her poor babies out in the cold just to break her heart.

"There, there! just snuggle the little shavers up to you, that's a darling!" cried Tom, huddling the two babies into their mother's arms, and leaving a penitential kiss somewhere in the borders of her cap. "I'll kindle the fire and make some tea myself—I know you didn't mean it."

"Indeed I didn't, Tom. But you mustn't do it; I will."

"There now, keep quiet, or you'll set 'em a-going again."

"No, Tom, they're both sound asleep."

"You don't say so. Well, they've got me wide awake, anyhow; so I'll just light a candle and show you what I really was doing in New Haven, and what Rose Mason wanted me to buy for her."

Tom unlocked a closet that held his cravats and Sunday clothes, from which he took a long, deep paper box, and carried it to the bed.

"See here!" he cried, lifting up a garment so white and soft that it seemed woven from snow-flakes. "Two of 'em, just alike; India muslin that her father sent from Calcutta, she told me to tell you. See how they are worked round the bottom, and cut up with lace. Then, here's the caps! One of 'em just fits my fist. It was to get the ribbon for these cockades she sent me to New Haven—white for the gal, and blue for the boy. Now what do you think about it?"

Mrs. Hutchins thought that she was the most silly, unreasonable, good-for-nothing creature that ever lived; but she hoped, for all, that Tom wouldn't say had again. It was too cruel, even if she was to blame.

Tom admitted that he was a hard-hearted, cruel, tiger of a fellow, and not worth half the love she gave him; and so the young couple were reconciled.