forth an earnest prayer of heartfelt
gratitude to the great God who orders all things.

'The Divinity that shapes our ends,
Rough hew them as we will.'

The next morning, her wedding day, dawns at length; the first thing she
hears are some sparrows chirping outside, and anxious to see if it is
fine, she goes to the window and draws up the blind, letting in a whole
flood of crimson light.

It is one of those lovely days in London when there is just a little
breath of wind stirring among the trees that prevents it from being
sultry, and everyone seems to expand to the warmth and look happy. It is
still quite early, two or three costermongers' carts are being wheeled
along by their owners, fresh from Covent Garden; a lark belonging to the
house opposite is singing merrily despite its small cage, and Lippa
smiles as she recalls the old saying, 'Blessed is the bride whom the
sun shines on.'

As sleep seems impossible and rather loud voices are heard from
overhead, she throws a loose wrapper round her and goes up to the
nurseries. Teddy is in his bath and no power on earth can persuade him
to get out, in vain Marie gesticulates and calls him '_Un bien mechant
gamin_,' Teddy knows he has the best of it, as whenever she comes near
he throws water at her.

'Oh, Teddy! Teddy!' exclaims Philippa, opening the door, 'do be a good
boy, or else you know, you could not be my page.'

Teddy, surprised at his aunt's sudden appearance, ceases to splash about
and regards her gravely.

'I shall be your page if I'm good then,' he says.

'Certainly,' replies Philippa, 'get out of the bath now and after your
breakfast you shall come to my room.'

Teddy looks longingly at the water and then at her, finally with a deep
sigh he gets out of the bath and submits to being rubbed dry by Marie.

The morning wears on and five minutes after the appointed time Lippa
calm and very lovely in her bridal attire, walks up the aisle of St
P---- leaning on her brother's arm, and there before the altar takes
James Dalrymple to be her husband, for better, for worse, till death
them do part.

Into further details there is no need to go; weddings are all alike, you
will say, except, of course, when you happen to be one of the chief
parties concerned. There was of course, the orthodox best man,
bridesmaids, and spectators, the lengthy signing of the register and
last but not least Mendelssohn's wedding march. I wonder how the world
could have g