espairing
gesture with her hand, and at length managed to say:

"Can't talk."

"Why, heavens, child, whatever is the matter?"

"Makes them worse--when I open my mouth--I've got the hiccoughs."

Aunt Wess' flounced back in her seat, exasperated, out of sorts.

"Well, my word," she murmured to herself, "I never saw such girls."

"Preserve to our use the kindly fruits of the earth," continued Page.

Isabel Gretry's hiccoughs drove Aunt Wess' into "the fidgets." They
"got on her nerves." What with them and Page's uninterrupted murmur,
she was at length obliged to sit in the far end of the pew, and just as
she had settled herself a second time the door of the vestry room
opened and the wedding party came out; first Mrs. Cressler, then Laura,
then Jadwin and Cressler, and then, robed in billowing white,
venerable, his prayer book in his hand, the bishop of the diocese
himself. Last of all came the clerk, osseous, perfumed, a gardenia in
the lapel of his frock coat, terribly excited, and hurrying about on
tiptoe, saying "Sh! Sh!" as a matter of principle.

Jadwin wore a new frock coat and a resplendent Ascot scarf, which Mr.
Cressler had bought for him and Page knew at a glance that he was
agitated beyond all measure, and was keeping himself in hand only by a
tremendous effort. She could guess that his teeth were clenched. He
stood by Cressler's side, his head bent forward, his hands--the fingers
incessantly twisting and untwisting--clasped behind his back. Never for
once did his eyes leave Laura's face.

She herself was absolutely calm, only a little paler perhaps than
usual; but never more beautiful, never more charming. Abandoning for
this once her accustomed black, she wore a tan travelling dress, tailor
made, very smart, a picture hat with heavy plumes set off with a clasp
of rhinestones, while into her belt was thrust a great bunch of
violets. She drew off her gloves and handed them to Mrs. Cressler. At
the same moment Page began to cry softly to herself.

"There's the last of Laura," she whimpered. "There's the last of my
dear sister for me."

Aunt Wess' fixed her with a distressful gaze. She sniffed once or
twice, and then began fumbling in her reticule for her handkerchief.

"If only her dear father were here," she whispered huskily. "And to
think that's the same little girl I used to rap on the head with my
thimble for annoying the cat! Oh, if Jonas could be here this day."

"She'll never be the same t