own if you don't," Jack was speaking now.

"And it will spoil everything," cried Ruth. "Jack and I planned it long
ago; and we have brought you out a special chair; and see your card--see
what it says: 'Dear Uncle Peter--'"

"Sit down with you young people at your wedding breakfast!" cried Peter,
"and--" He didn't get any farther. Ruth had stopped what was to follow
with a kiss. I know, for I craned my neck and caught the flash of the
old fellow's bald head with the fair girl's cheek close to his own.

"Well, then--just as you want it--but there's the Major and Felicia and
your father."

But they did not want any of these people, Ruth cried with a ringing
laugh; didn't want any old people; they just wanted their dear Uncle
Peter, and they were going to have him; a resolution which was put
to vote and carried unanimously, the two pink bridesmaids and the two
steel-gray gentlemen voting the loudest.

The merriment ceased when Ruth disappeared and came back in a dark-blue
travelling dress and Jack in a brown suit. We were all in the doorway,
our hands filled with rose petals--no worn-out slippers or hail of
rice for this bride--when she tried to slip through in a dash for the
carriage, but the dear lady caught and held her, clasping the girl to
her heart, kissing her lips, her forehead, her hands--she could be very
tender when she loved anybody; and she loved Ruth as her life; Peter and
her father going ahead to hold open the door where they had their kisses
and handshakes, their blessings, and their last words all to themselves.

The honeymoon slipped away as do all honeymoons, and one crisp, cool
December day a lumbering country stage containing two passengers
struggled up a steep hill and stopped before a long, rambling building
nearing completion. All about were piles of partly used lumber, broken
bundles of shingles, empty barrels, and abandoned mortar beds. Straight
from the low slanting roof with its queer gables, rose a curl of blue
smoke, telling of comfort and cheer within. Back of it towered huge
trees, and away off in the distance swept a broad valley hazy in the
morning light.

"Oh, Jack--what a love!" cried one passenger--she had alighted with a
spring, her cheeks aglow with the bracing mountain air, and was standing
taking it all in. "And, oh--see the porch!--and the darling windows and
the dear little panes of glass! And, Jack--" she had reached the open
door now, and was sweeping her eyes around the