t. "I guess I better be goin'," he said, a lump
rising ominously in his throat. He got the gate open and made his way
half dazed around the corner. As he did so, he saw a procession of small
Ridders bearing joyously down upon him.

"Joe!" shrieked Lottie, arriving first, "Maw says hurry on home; we got
another new baby to our house."

During the weeks that followed, Rear Ninth Street was greatly thrilled
over the unusual event of a home wedding. The reticence of the groom was
more than made up for by the bulletins of news issued daily by Mrs.
Beaver. To use that worthy lady's own words, "she was in her elements!"
She organised various committees--on decoration, on refreshment, and
even on the bride's trousseau, tactfully permitting each assistant to
contribute in some way to the general grandeur of the occasion.

"I am going to have this a real showy wedding," she said from her point
of vantage by the parlour window, where she sat like a field-marshal and
issued her orders. "Those paper fringes want to go clean across every
one of the shelves, and you all must make enough paper roses to pin
'round the edges of all the curtains. Ever'thing's got to look gay and
festive."

"Mittie don't look very gay," ventured one of the assistants. "I seen
her in the kitchen cryin' a minute ago."

"Mittie's a fool!" announced Mrs. Beaver calmly. "She don't know a good
thing when she sees it! Get them draperies up a little higher in the
middle; I'm going to hang a silver horseshoe on to the loop."

The wedding night arrived, and the Beaver cottage was filled to
suffocation with the _elite_ of Rear Ninth Street. The guests found it
difficult to circulate freely in the room on account of the elaborate
and aggressive decorations, so they stood in silent rows awaiting the
approaching ceremony. As the appointed hour drew near, and none of the
groom's family arrived, a few whispered comments were exchanged.

"It's 'most time to begin," whispered the preacher to Mrs. Beaver, whose
keen black eyes had been watching the door with growing impatience.

"Well, we won't wait on nobody," she said positively, as she rose and
left the room to give the signal.

In the kitchen she found great consternation: the bride, pale and
dejected in all her finery, sat on the table, all the chairs being in
the parlour.

"What's the matter?" demanded Mrs. Beaver.

"He ain't come!" announced one of the women in tragic tones.

"Ben Schenk ain't here?" ask