coming up the aisle
on the arm of a hard-faced, rather gipsy-looking man, dressed in a
farmer's very best.

I can only tell you that to see her coming down the centre of that grey
church amongst all those dark-clothed people, was like watching the
dance of a sunbeam. Never had I seen a face so happy, sweet, and
radiant. Smiling, eager, just lost enough to her surroundings, her hair
unconquerably golden through the coarse veil; her dancing eyes clear
and dark as a peat pool--she was the prettiest sight. One could only
think of a young apple-tree with the spring sun on its blossom. She had
that kind of infectious brightness which comes from very simple
goodness. It was quite a relief to have taken a fancy to the young man's
face, and to feel that she was passing into good hands.

The only flowers in the church were early daffodils, but those first
children of the sun were somehow extraordinarily appropriate to the
wedding of this girl. When she came out she was pelted with them, and
with that miserable confetti without which not even the simplest souls
can pass to bliss, it seems. There are things in life which make one
feel good--sunshine, most music, all flowers, many children, some
animals, clouds, mountains, bird-songs, blue sky, dancing, and here and
there a young girl's face. And I had the feeling that all of us there
felt good for the mere seeing of her.

When she had driven away, I found myself beside a lame old man, with
whiskers, and delightful eyes, who continued to smile after the carriage
had quite vanished. Noticing, perhaps, that I, too, was smiling, he
said: "'Tes a funny thing, tu, when a maid like that gets married--makes
you go all of a tremble--so it du." And to my nod he added: "Brave bit
o' sunshine--we'll miss her hereabout; not a doubt of it. We ain't got
another one like that."

"Was that her father?" I asked, for the want of something to say. With a
sharpish look at my face, he shook his head.

"No, she an't got no parents, Mr. Mara bein' her uncle, as you may say.
No, she an't got no parents," he repeated, and there was something ill
at ease, yet juicy, about his voice, as though he knew things that he
would not tell.

Since there was nothing more to wait for, I went up to the little inn,
and ordered bread and cheese. The male congregation was whetting its
whistle noisily within, but, as a stranger, I had the verandah to
myself, and, finishing my simple lunch in the March sunlight, I pai