f the parish of Maughold, and
Stephen Orry, bachelor, out of Iceland.

What a wedding it was that came three weeks later! Liza wore a gay
new gown that had been lent her by a neighbor, Bella Coobragh, a girl
who had meant to be married in it herself the year before, but had
not fully carried out her moral intention and had since borne a
child. Wearing such borrowed plumes and a brazen smile of defiance,
Liza strutted up to the Communion rail, looking impudently into the
men's faces, and saucily into the women's--for the church was
thronged with an odorous mob that kept up the jabbering of frogs at
spawn--and Stephen Orry slouched after her in his blowzy garments
with a downward, shame-faced, nervous look that his hulky manners
could not conceal. Then what a wedding feast it was that followed!
The little cabin in Port-y-Vullin reeked and smoked with men and
women, and ran out on to the sand and pebbles of the beach, for the
time of year was spring and the day was clear and warm. Liza's old
lovers were there in troops. With a keg of rum over his shoulder Nary
Crowe, the innkeeper, had come down from the "Hibernian" to give her
joy, and Cleave Kinley, the butcher, had brought her up half a lamb
from Ballaglass, and Matt Mylechreest, the net maker--a venal old
skinflint--had charged his big snuff horn to the brim for the many
noses of the guests. On the table, the form, the three-legged stool,
the bed and the hearth, they sat together cheek by jowl their hats
hung on the roof rafters, their plates perched on their knees.

And loud was their laughter and dubious their talk. Old Thurstan
Coobragh led off on the advantages of marriage, saying it was
middlin' plain that the gels nowadays must be wedded when they were
babies in arms, for bye-childers were common, and a gel's father
didn't care in a general way to look like a fool; but Nary Crowe saw
no harm in a bit of sweetheartin', and Cleave Kinley said no, of
course, not if a man wasn't puttin' notions into a gel's head, and
Matt Mylechreest, for his part, thought the gels were amazin' like
the ghosts, for they got into every skeleton closet about the house.

"But then," said Matt, "I'm an ould bachelor, as the sayin' is, and
don't know nothin'."

"Ha, ha, ha! of course not," laughed the others; and then there was a
taste of a toast to Liza's future in Nary's rum.

"Drop it," said Liza, as Nary, lifting his cup, leaned over to
whisper.

"So I will, but it'll be into