range blossoms, the groom in dress coat, gray trousers,
and red cravat.

St. Cloud is a famous place for wedding parties of the _petit
bourgeois_, and Judy felt herself to be very fortunate to witness this
first one of the spring. The bride's dress looked rather chilly for
February although it was such a warm, sunny day; but through the coarse
lace yoke it was easy to see that the prudent young woman had on a
sensible red flannel undershirt, and as she turned around and around in
the mazes of the dance, with the ecstatic groom, an equally sensible
gray woolen petticoat was in plain view. A hurdy-gurdy furnished the
music and the greensward was their ballroom floor. Everyone danced, old
and young, fat and lean.

Judy sat entranced and beat time with her eager feet. It was such a
good-natured crowd. The groom's mother danced with the bride's father,
and the bride's mother danced with the groom's father. Everyone had a
partner and everyone seemed to feel it to be his or her duty as well as
pleasure to dance as long as the hurdy-gurdy man could grind out a tune.
The fat mother of the bride (at least Judy thought she must be her
mother from a similarity of gray woolen petticoats) sank on the bench
almost into the wet sketch with the Corot effect, and made speechless
signals that she could proceed no farther. Her disconsolate partner was
not nearly through with his breath or enthusiasm. He was as lean as his
partner was fat and had not so much to carry as the poor mother of the
bride. He took two or three steps alone, kicking out his long legs like
a jumping-jack, and then he made a sudden resolve. Coming over to Judy,
he took off his hat, pressed it to his starched shirt bosom, made a low
bow and asked her to take pity on a poor old man who would have to dance
alone, as dance he must, unless she would be his partner.

Impulsive Julia Kean found herself on a terrace at St. Cloud, spinning
around like a dancing dervish. She, with her partner, danced down the
whole wedding party; even the untiring street piano gave up, and their
last spin was taken without music. The good-natured revelers applauded
loudly; and some of them congratulated her on her powers of endurance;
and the flattered _bon pere_ declared that in his youth he had been able
to dance down three charming partners but he had never had the pleasure
of dancing with a young lady with the endurance of the English miss.
With that, he heard a scornful "Bah" from his go