there was
another reason why she who, only a moment before had been Jennie Stone,
quite filled the public eye.

In the first place, Jennie was a well-built girl, and upon her well-built
frame there had always been since her childhood days a superabundance of
flesh. And getting married had not changed sweet, jolly, funny Jennie
Stone in the least! Instead of coming back down the aisle of the church
with modestly downcast eyes (which is usually a hypocritical display of
emotion), Jennie smiled at her friends and beamed proudly upon the figure
in horizon blue at her side.

And she might well be proud of Major Henri Marchand, for he was in the
very best sense a soldier and a gentleman, and there gleamed a bit of
color on his breast that had been pinned there by Marshal Foch's own
hand. As he was still in active service and had only been given leave to
come to America for his bride, this might be considered the last military
wedding that the old church was likely to see--perhaps for many years.

The groom's French uniform, and even the olive gray of the best man and
two or three other men in the party at the altar, had lent their touch of
color to the picture. But it was the bride's attendants, however, that
made the party so well worth looking at--especially to the greater number
of young women and girls in the pews.

Jennie Stone was a popular girl, and had friends galore. Many of those
girl friends had come from a distance to see their beloved "Heavy Stone"
(as she had been nicknamed in the old Briarwood Hall days) married to the
man she had met in France while she was engaged in those useful and
helpful occupations into which so many American girls entered during the
war.

Besides, Jennie was the first of the old Briarwood Hall set to be
married, and this was bound to be a gala occasion. This was no "weepy"
wedding, but a time of joy. And the bridal party coming down the aisle
made as brilliant a picture as had ever been seen in the old church.

The maid of honor in pink was as refreshing to look upon as a bouquet of
arbutus. She had always been a pretty, winsome girl. Now she was
developing into a handsome young woman, as all Ruth Fielding's friends
declared. In her present filmy costume with its flowery picture hat the
girl of the Red Mill had never looked better.

The young man at her side in the uniform of an American captain with his
black curls and dark face, made a splendid foil for Ruth's beauty. Behind