umors settled down into positive
facts, and Clayton was thrilled to its willow-fringed circumference.
There was to be a wedding! Not a Nelson wedding of the olden times,
when a special car brought grand folk down from the city, and the
townspeople stayed apart and eyed their fine clothes and gay behavior
with ill-concealed disfavor. This was to be a Clayton wedding for high
and low, rich and poor.

There was probably not a shutter opened in the town, on the morning of
the great day, that some one did not smile with pleasure to find that
the sun was shining.

Mrs. Hollis woke Sandy with the dawn, and insisted upon helping him
pack his trunk before breakfast. For a week she had been absorbed in
his nuptial outfit, jealously guarding his new clothes, to keep him
from wearing them all before the wedding.

Aunt Melvy was half an hour late in arriving, for she had tarried at
"Who'd 'a' Thought It" to perform the last mystic rites over a
rabbit's foot which was to be her gift to the groom.

The whole town was early astir and wore a holiday air. By noon
business was virtually abandoned, for Clayton was getting ready to go
to the wedding.

Willowvale extended a welcome to the world. The wide front gates stood
open, the big-eyed poplars beamed above the oleanders and the myrtle,
while the thrushes and the redwings twittered and caroled their
greetings from on high. The big white house was open to the sunshine
and the spring; flowers filled every nook and corner; even the
rose-bush which grew outside the dining-room window sent a few
venturesome roses over the sill to lend their fragrance to those
within.

And such a flutter of expectancy and romance and joy as pervaded the
place! All the youth of Clayton was there, loitering about the grounds
in gay little groups, or lingering in couples under the shadow of the
big porches.

In the library Judge and Mrs. Hollis did the honors, and presented the
guests to little Miss Merritt, whose cordial, homely greetings
counteracted the haughty disapproval of the portraits overhead.

Mr. Moseley rambled through the rooms, indulging in a flowing
monologue which was as independent of an audience as a summer brook.

Mr. Meech sought a secluded spot under the stairway and nervously
practised the wedding service, while Mrs. Meech, tucked up for once in
her life, smiled bravely on the company, and thought of a little green
mound in the cemetery, which Sandy had helped her keep bright wit