the "boarding-house" he had selected.
They drove and drove, and the sleigh containing the bride and groom got
behind and apparently was bound nowhere in particular, which disturbed
the groom a good deal, for he thought it proper that they should arrive
first, to receive their guests. He commented on Slee's poor judgment
in selecting a house that was so hard to find, and when at length they
turned into fashionable Delaware Avenue, and stopped before one of
the most attractive places in the neighborhood, he was beset with fear
concerning the richness of the locality.

They were on the steps when the doors opened, and a perfect fairyland
of lights and decoration was revealed within. The friends who had gone
ahead came out with greetings, to lead in the bride and groom. Servants
hurried forward to take bags and wraps. They were ushered inside; they
were led through beautiful rooms, all newly appointed and garnished. The
bridegroom was dazed, unable to understand the meaning of things, the
apparent ownership and completeness of possession.

At last the young wife put her hand upon his arm:

"Don't you understand, Youth," she said; that was always her name for
him. "Don't you understand? It is ours, all ours--everything--a gift
from father!"

But even then he could not grasp it; not at first, not until Mr. Langdon
brought a little box and, opening it, handed them the deeds.

Nobody quite remembers what was the first remark that Samuel Clemens
made then; but either then or a little later he said:

"Mr. Langdon, whenever you are in Buffalo, if it's twice a year, come
right here. Bring your bag and stay overnight if you want to. It sha'n't
cost you a cent!"

They went in to supper then, and by and by the guests were gone and the
young wedded pair were alone.

Patrick McAleer, the young coachman, who would grow old in their employ,
and Ellen, the cook, came in for their morning orders, and were full of
Irish delight at the inexperience and novelty of it all. Then they were
gone, and only the lovers in their new house and their new happiness
remained.

And so it was they entered the enchanted land.

LXXV. AS TO DESTINY

If any reader has followed these chapters thus far, he may have
wondered, even if vaguely, at the seeming fatality of events. Mark Twain
had but to review his own life for justification of his doctrine of
inevitability--an unbroken and immutable sequence of cause and effect
from the beginning. O