my grandfather was not
quite at the top of the social scale, he had business connections with
those that were, and they all turned out for the wedding of his only
daughter, the men in silk frock coats, the women in all their jewelry.

The bridegroom's aunts and cousins came in full force. Wedding
messengers had been sent to every person who could possibly claim
relationship with the hossen. My mother's parents were too generous to
slight the lowliest. Instead of burning the barn, they did all they
could to garnish it. One or two of the more important of the poor
relations came to the wedding in gowns paid for by my rich
grandfather. The rest came decked out in borrowed finery, or in
undisguised shabbiness. But nobody thought of staying away--except the
obstructive cousin who had nearly prevented the match.

When it was time to conduct the bride to the wedding canopy, the
bridegroom's mother missed Henne Roesel. The house was searched for
her, but in vain. Nobody had seen her. But my grandmother could not
bear to have the marriage solemnized in the absence of a first
cousin. Such a wedding as this was not likely to be repeated in her
family; it would be a great pity if any of the relatives missed it. So
she petitioned the principals to delay the ceremony, while she herself
went in search of the missing cousin.

Clear over to the farthest end of the town she walked, lifting her
gala dress well above her ankles. She found Henne Roesel in her untidy
kitchen, sound in every limb but sulky in spirit. My grandmother
exclaimed at her conduct, and bade her hurry with her toilet, and
accompany her; the wedding guests were waiting; the bride was faint
from prolonging her fast. But Henne Roesel flatly refused to go; the
bride might remain an old maid, for all she, Henne Roesel, cared about
the wedding. My troubled grandmother expostulated, questioned her,
till she drew out the root of the cousin's sulkiness. Henne Roesel
complained that she had not been properly invited. The wedding
messenger had come,--oh, yes!--but she had not addressed her as
flatteringly, as respectfully as she had been heard to address the
wife of Yohem, the money-lender. And Henne Roesel wasn't going to any
weddings where she was not wanted. My grandmother had a struggle of
it, but she succeeded in soothing the sensitive cousin, who consented
at length to don her best dress and go to the wedding.

While my grandmother labored with Henne Roesel, the bride