dal party presently took their stand.

First came the three little flower girls--Elsie Dinsmore, Elsie
Raymond, and Elsie Embury--dressed in white silk mull, and each
carrying a basket of white roses; then the bridesmaids and
groomsmen--Frank Dinsmore with Corinne Embury, Harold Travilla with
Grace Raymond, Herbert Travilla and Mary Embury--the girls all dressed
in white and carrying bouquets of smilax and white flowers.

Max had declined to serve on hearing that Eva could not serve with him
on account of being still in mourning for her mother.

Lastly came the bride and groom, Sidney looking very charming in a
white silk trimmed with abundance of costly lace, wearing a beautiful
bridal veil and wreath of fresh and fragrant orange blossoms, and
carrying a bouquet of the same in her hand.

The party stood underneath the arch, the bride and groom directly
beneath the bell in its centre, while the guests gathered about them,
the nearest relatives taking the nearest stations.

Mr. Cyril Keith was the officiating minister. It was a pretty
ceremony, but short, and then the congratulations and good wishes
began.

Those over, the guests were invited to seat themselves about a number
of tables scattered here and there under the trees and loaded with
tempting viands. The minister craved a blessing upon the food and the
feast began.

An effort had been made to some extent so to seat the guests that
relatives and friends would be near each other. The entire bridal
party was at one table, the other young people of the connection were
pretty close at hand--the older ones and their children not much
farther off.

Everybody had been helped and cheery chat, mingled with some mirth,
was going on, when suddenly a shrill voice, that seemed to come from
the branches overhead, cried out, "What you 'bout, all you folks?
Polly wants some breakfast."

Everybody started and looked up into the tree from which the sounds
had seemed to come; but no parrot was visible there.

"Why, where is the bird?" asked several voices in tones of surprise.
But hardly had the question been asked when another parrot seemed to
speak from a table near that at which the bridal party sat. "Polly's
hungry. Poor old Polly--poor old soul!"

"Is that so, Polly? Then just help yourself," said Dr. Percival.

"Polly wants her coffee. Poor old Polly, poor old soul!" came in
reply, sounding as if the bird had gone farther down the table.

Then a whistle was he