ut
Amy's and though Joe said nothing to Ethel about it, she knew he had not
sent them word. "It's better," she thought. She herself wrote to a few
girl friends, but they were scattered all over the country. No one of
them would be coming East. And at times she felt very lonely. With
memories of weddings at home and of her dreams for one of her own, which
she had planned so often, she begged Joe to let her be married in
church, and Joe gave in good-naturedly. He did not go to the minister
who had buried Amy a year before, but to one who had a small
Presbyterian church on the next street. There he soon arranged to be
married. But then, in his ignorance of such matters, Joe said, in his
blunt, off-hand way:

"I like to settle these things ahead. So if you'll just name the
amount--" he stopped. For the clergyman straightened up as though at an
insult. Joe reddened. "Look here," he blurted, "I didn't mean--"

"Oh, that's all right." The other man was smiling queerly. "How long
have you been in New York?" he asked.

"Nine years."

"Ever been inside of a church?"

"No, I can't say that I have."

"Then why do you want to get married here?"

Joe smiled frankly. "The bride's idea."

"I thought so," said the preacher. A glint of humour came into his
eyes. "You asked me what it would cost to get married. If you'll go
down to City Hall, it will cost you exactly two dollars. But if you
care to be married here--well, there's an old scrub-woman I know who for
nine years every Sunday has come to this church and put a quarter in the
plate to keep this institution going for you. And if you care to use it
now it will cost you just what it has cost her. Figure it out and send
me a check, or else go down to City Hall."

"I'll pay up," was the prompt reply.

At home he told Ethel about it with keen relish at the joke on himself.
And Ethel smiled rather tensely and said:

"Don't let's make a joke of it, dear. Let's make it as much of a one as
we can."

But there was little or nothing to do. And the next afternoon in church
it felt so queer and unreal to her as she stood with Joe in front of the
pulpit. Behind her in the shadowy place were only Susette and Emily and
the building superintendent's wife. No long rows of faces--caring.
Only the hard murmur of the busy street outside. No excited whispers
here, no music and no flowers, no bridesmaids and no wedding gown.

"I pronounce you man and wife."

Then what?

She took Suse