know I look awful, but, oh, wasn't the
bride a dream?"

We missed the Story Girl, who, of course, had to have her supper at
the bridal table; but we were a hilarious little crew and the girls had
nobly kept their promise to save tid-bits for us. By the time the last
table was cleared away Aunt Olivia and our new uncle were ready to go.
There was an orgy of tears and leavetakings, and then they drove away
into the odorous moonlight night. Dan and Peter pursued them down the
lane with a fiendish din of bells and pans, much to Felicity's wrath.
But Aunt Olivia and Uncle Robert took it in good part and waved their
hands back to us with peals of laughter.

"They're just that pleased with themselves that they wouldn't mind if
there was an earthquake," said Felix, grinning.

"It's been splendid and exciting, and everything went off well," sighed
Cecily, "but, oh dear, it's going to be so queer and lonesome without
Aunt Olivia. I just believe I'll cry all night."

"You're tired to death, that's what's the matter with you," said Dan,
returning. "You girls have worked like slaves today."

"Tomorrow will be even harder," said Felicity comfortingly. "Everything
will have to be cleaned up and put away."

Peg Bowen paid us a call the next day and was regaled with a feast of
fat things left over from the supper.

"Well, I've had all I can eat," she said, when she had finished and
brought out her pipe. "And that doesn't happen to me every day. There
ain't been as much marrying as there used to be, and half the time they
just sneak off to the minister, as if they were ashamed of it, and get
married without any wedding or supper. That ain't the King way, though.
And so Olivia's gone off at last. She weren't in any hurry but they tell
me she's done well. Time'll show."

"Why don't you get married yourself, Peg?" queried Uncle Roger
teasingly. We held our breath over his temerity.

"Because I'm not so easy to please as your wife will be," retorted Peg.

She departed in high good humour over her repartee. Meeting Sara Ray
on the doorstep she stopped and asked her what was the matter with her
face.

"Wasps," stammered Sara Ray, laconic from terror.

"Humph! And your hands?"

"Warts."

"I'll tell you what'll take them away. You get a pertater and go out
under the full moon, cut the pertater in two, rub your warts with one
half and say, 'One, two, three, warts, go away from me.' Then rub
them with the other half and say, 'On