n what to
do and say."

It was the old minister whom John had heard preach, and he stood
stroking Tilly's hand in a paternal way. He paused and greeted John with
rather cold formality. "I hope you realize the great prize you have won,
my young brother," he said. "I've known this sweet child a long time and
love her as if she were my own."

John was chagrined beyond measure, for he found his tongue an unusable
appendage. He felt the blood rush in a flood to his face. He stammered
out something, he knew not what, and stood fumbling his hands. He
disliked the man and his profession, and could have told him so easier
than to have uttered some trivial insincerity even on that occasion.
John's attitude of sheer helplessness touched Tilly. She put her hand on
his arm and smiled up in his face. It was as if she were saying, "I
understand, and it is all right."

"Where is your father?" the minister asked of Tilly. "He must give the
bride away."

"He refuses to do it," Tilly informed him. "He says it is a silly, new
style, and he doesn't believe in it."

"Well, Mr. Trott," the old man said, still distantly, "you will have to
bring her in on your arm after I get to my place at the end of the room.
I never marry with a ring. That belongs to the Episcopalian service.
Now"--looking at his watch--"it is about time."

He walked from the room, leaving John and Tilly alone now, standing
ready, arm in arm. John had not seen her in her new hat and dress
before, and somehow now she seemed the same and yet not exactly the same
Tilly who had worn such plain frocks in her work about the house. A
chill of suspended delight was on him. It seemed a dream of some
transcendental event, worked through the alchemy of love. He could not
have uttered a word had he tried. How could she look so placid, so
fearless, while the very earth seemed unstable under his feet, the skies
ready to drop further glories about him and her?

Cavanaugh suddenly thrust his head in at the door. "The parson is
ready," he called out, with a laugh swelling with expectancy. "He says
send you in. That bunch in there is crazy to see the bride. I tried to
get somebody to play a march on the organ, but nobody is able. Now move
along. Stand up straight, John. My Lord! you are not a jack-knife! Lift
your feet! Quit sliding them along! Look how Tilly walks--as light and
dainty as a pigeon on a clean barn floor."

Tilly laughed almost merrily, but John felt the far-reaching