said to herself.

After straightening the crocheted mats for the last time, she went
downstairs to the kitchen to describe the wedding to the two old
people, who, chained to their chairs by rheumatism, were on the point of
bursting with curiosity.

"An' you didn't bring me so much as a bite of cake," whimpered
grandmother, seeing her empty hands. "Here I've been settin' all day in
this cheer with my mouth waterin' for that weddin' cake."

"I'm just as sure as I can be that Mrs. Hatch is goin' to send you some
made by Blossom," replied Sarah soothingly.

"Ah, to think of Abel bein' at his own weddin' an' we settin' here,"
piped grandfather. "'Twas a hasty business, but we Revercombs were
al'ays the folk to swallow our puddin' while 'twas smokin' an' then cry
out that we didn't know 'twas hot. I never knew one of us that didn't
have to larn he was a fool befo' he could come at any wisdom."

"Well, I ain't got anything particular against the girl," said Sarah,
"but it's my bounden belief that she'll turn out a slattern. Thar's
something moonstruck about her--you can tell it by that shiftin'
skeered-rabbit look in her eyes. She's just the sort to sweep all the
trash under the bed an' think she's cleaned the room."

"It's amazin', the small sense men have in sech matters," remarked
grandfather. "Thar's a feelin' among us, I don't know whar it comes
from, that the little and squinched-up women generally run to virtue."

"Oh, I ain't sayin' she's not a good girl accordin' to her lights,"
returned Sarah, "an', after all, it ain't a man but his mother that
suffers from a slattern. Well, I must go an' lay off my weeds befo' it's
time for 'em to get here. Don't you fret, ma, Mrs. Hatch is surely goin'
to send you something."

Inspired by this prophecy, grandmother began immediately to show signs
of reviving hope, and a little later, when the sound of wheels was heard
on the road, she was seized with an anticipation so violent that she
fluttered like a withered leaf in the wind. Then the wheels stopped at
the gate, and Blossom and Mr. Mullen entered, bearing a small basket,
which contained disordered remains of the wedding feast.

"Whar's Abel?" inquired Sarah, bowing stiffly to the young clergyman.

"We passed them in the road. My horse for once outstripped his mare,"
replied Mr. Mullen, who felt a crawling sensation in the back of his
neck whenever Sarah was present, as if he were called upon to face in
her single per