ical picture of the millennium
while the sailor got married. Both were subdued suddenly. She found
herself thinking that, if ever she had children, she would never let
them go to such a dreary place as Sunday-school.

"Isn't this awful?" she whispered at last. "People ought to be married
on the tops of hills, or under trees. But it makes you feel solemn, and
sort of good, doesn't it--even such a fearful place?"

He nodded. They heard the sailor and the bride chattering suddenly and
loudly in the next little room and guessed that they were married. A
bent little woman--the chapel cleaner--came along and asked them where
their witnesses were. Her dark eyes looked piercingly among grey,
unbrushed hair; her hands were encrusted with much immersion in dirty
water.

"Witnesses?" said Louis anxiously.

"Two witnesses," she said inexorably. "Haven't you got 'ny?"

"We didn't know--" began Marcella. The old woman looked pleased.

"Well, I was wondering if yous 'ud have me an' my boss. We often make a
couple of bob like that."

Louis nodded, and she shuffled off, appearing a few moments later with
an old man who had evidently been waiting about for the chance of
earning a few shillings.

"It isn't a bit like Lochinvar," whispered Marcella, "or Jock of
Hazeldean."

"Poor old lady," he whispered, suddenly gentle.

The two old people sat down on the form beside Louis, who edged a little
closer to Marcella.

"It's forty years since we was married, my boss and me," began the old
woman. "Forty years--and brought up twelve--"

"Buried six," mumbled the old man, shaking his head and wiping a watery
eye on his coat sleeve.

"I say, I feel no end of an ass, don't you?" whispered Louis. "Tell the
old idiots to shut up."

"Poor old things--forty years ago they thought it was all going to be so
shining," she whispered.

"It isn't as if he's had very good work," went on the old woman, "but
you must take the rough with the smooth."

A small old man with a black suit and a long white beard came to the
door and beckoned them. They suddenly realized that he was the priest
and followed him meekly.

"I've often been the officiating surgeon," whispered Louis, giggling
nervously, "but I never understood the point of view of the man on the
operating table before."

"Oh hush, Louis. I feel so solemn," whispered Marcella. She wished very
much that Wullie was there. She felt that he would have understood how
she felt as she repeat