es
his own cart, you begin to think that he is too good for this world, and
that he is almost ripe for a better one."

"You do indeed; there's no denying that."

"But the wedding was beautiful: I never saw its equal--never; and as for
the prayer that the minister offered up at the end of the service, I
only wish you'd been there to hear it, Mrs. Bateson, it was so
interesting and instructive. Such a lot of information in it about love
and marriage and the like as I'd never heard before; and when he
referred to the bridegroom's first wife, and drew a picture of how she'd
be waiting to welcome them both, when the time came, on the further
shore--upon my word, there wasn't a dry eye in the chapel!" And Mrs.
Hankey wiped hers at the mere remembrance of the scene.

"But what did Susan say?" asked Elisabeth, with great interest. "I
expect she didn't want another wife to welcome them on the further
shore."

"Oh! Miss Elisabeth, what a naughty, selfish little girl you are!"
exclaimed Susan's aunt, much shocked. "What would Miss Farringdon think
if she heard you? Why, you don't suppose, surely, that when folks get to
heaven they'll be so greedy and grasping that they'll want to keep
everything to themselves, do you? My niece is a good girl and a member
of society, and she was as pleased as anybody at the minister's
beautiful prayer."

Elisabeth was silent, but unconvinced.

"How is your sister herself?" inquired Mrs. Bateson. "I expect she's a
bit upset now that the fuss is all over, and she hasn't a daughter left
to bless herself with."

Mrs. Hankey sighed cheerfully. "Well, she did seem rather low-spirited
when all the mess was cleared up, and Susan had gone off to her own
home; but I says to her, 'Never mind, Sarah, and don't you worry
yourself; now that the weddings are over, the funerals will soon begin.'
You see, you must cheer folks up a bit, Mrs. Bateson, when they're
feeling out of sorts."

"You must indeed," agreed the lady of the house, feeling that her guest
had hit upon a happy vein of consolation; "it is dull without daughters
when you've once got accustomed to 'em, daughters being a sight more
comfortable and convenient than sons, to my mind."

"Well, you see, daughters you can teach to know theirselves, and sons;
you can't. Though even daughters can never rest till they've got
married, more's the pity. If they knowed as much about men as I do,
they'd be thanking the Lord that He'd created them single,