dding in this house," she said. "Not
likely I'll ever have another chance."

She found time amid all the baking and concocting to warn me
frequently not to take it too much to heart if Mark failed to come
after all.

"I know a man who jilted a girl on her wedding day. That's the men for
you. It's best to be prepared."

But Mark did come, getting there the evening before our wedding day.
And then a severe blow fell on Aunt Philippa. Word came from the manse
that Mr. Bentwell had been suddenly summoned to Nova Scotia to his
mother's deathbed; he had started that night.

"That's the men for you," said Aunt Philippa bitterly. "Never can
depend on one of them, not even on a minister. What's to be done now?"

"Get another minister," said Mark easily.

"Where'll you get him?" demanded Aunt Philippa. "The minister at
Cliftonville is away on his vacation, and Mercer is vacant, and that
leaves none nearer than town. It won't do to depend on a town minister
being able to come. No, there's no help for it. You'll have to have
that Methodist man."

Aunt Philippa's tone was tragic. Plainly she thought the ceremony
would scarcely be legal if that Methodist man married us. But neither
Mark nor I cared. We were too happy to be disturbed by any such
trifles.

The young Methodist minister married us the next day in the presence
of many beaming guests. Aunt Philippa, splendid in black silk and
point-lace collar, neither of which lost a whit of dignity or lustre
by being made ten years before, was composure itself while the
ceremony was going on. But no sooner had the minister pronounced us
man and wife than she spoke up.

"Now that's over I want someone to go right out and put out the fire
on the kitchen roof. It's been on fire for the last ten minutes."

Minister and bridegroom headed the emergency brigade, and Aunt
Philippa pumped the water for them. In a short time the fire was out,
all was safe, and we were receiving our deferred congratulations.

"Now, young man," said Aunt Philippa solemnly as she shook hands with
Mark, "don't you ever try to get out of this, even if a Methodist
minister did marry you."

She insisted on driving us to the train and said goodbye to us as we
stood on the car steps. She had caught more of the shower of rice than
I had, and as the day was hot and sunny she had tied over her head,
atop of that festal silk dress, a huge, home-made, untrimmed straw
hat. But she did not look ridiculous. There w