r my bridesmaid. I am going home to New York in three weeks, and
your aunt says I may take you with me. Will you come?"

Lucy's face flushed with pleasure, but she said quickly,--

"You are very kind, Carrie. I should like it dearly. But would it be
right to leave my uncle and aunt?"

"If they say you may, Lucy. I have thought it well over before I
mentioned it at all; and I'm sure you would enjoy yourself."

"I know that. May I have a day or two to think of it, Carrie?"

"As many as you like, so that you only come, dear. Now, I'm going
off; I haven't a minute to spare.--By-the-by, Alice and Minnie will
likely be at papa's, too, all December, so that is another
inducement. Goodbye." She stooped and kissed Lucy, and ran out of the
house.

Pretty soon Aunt Hepsy came in, looking very grave and sad. She took
up her knitting, and for a bit neither spoke.

"Three months is a long time, Aunt Hepsy," said Lucy at last.

Aunt Hepsy never spoke.

Then Lucy rose and came to her, and laid her arm about her neck. "You
don't want me to go, auntie, I know you don't."

"Go away; I didn't say I didn't," said Aunt Hepsy in her gruffest
tones.

"Auntie, if you will only tell me you would rather I stayed, I won't
go."

"Don't ask questions, child. I guess I'd never live through them
three months. As well go away for ever almost."

"Then I won't go," said Lucy stoutly. "I'd dearly like to be at
Carrie's wedding; but I can't leave you, auntie, for so long." And
from that decision no persuasion could induce Lucy to depart--she was
firm as a rock; but Aunt Hepsy made a little private arrangement of
her own, which was to be kept a profound secret from the bride-elect.

Judge Keane travelled to New York the day before Christmas with a
young lady under his care; and when the pair were ushered into Dr.
Goldthwaite's drawing-room, the bride-elect saw, peeping out from
among the rich furs which Aunt Hepsy had provided for her darling, a
face she loved very dearly, and which could belong to nobody in the
world but Lucy Hurst.

They were all together in the long drawing-room, waiting only the
coming of the bride, ere the solemn ceremony could be performed.
There was a large company, for the Goldthwaites had a wide circle of
acquaintance. Conspicuous among them were the friends we know
best--all the Keanes (save the invalid mother, who thought and prayed
for them at home), and Tom and Lucy Hurst. It had been a surprise to
Lucy to f