s of the bold blacksmith's recovery, and return with his wife to
the old desolated home, reached me at a very interesting period of our
family history--my sister Bella's wedding day.

It came through my eccentric friend U. Biquitous, who, after going
through the Russo-Turkish war as correspondent of the _Evergreen Isle_,
had proceeded in the same capacity to Greece. After detailing a good
many of his adventures, and referring me to the pages of the _EI_ for
the remainder of his opinions on things in general, he went on, "By the
way, in passing through Bulgaria lately, I fell in with your friend
Dobri Petroff, the celebrated scout of the Balkan army. He and his
pretty wife send their love, and all sorts of kind messages which I
totally forget. Dobri said he supposed you would think he was dead, but
he isn't, and I can assure you looks as if he didn't mean to die for
some time to come. They are both very low, however, about the loss of
their children, though they still cling fondly to the belief that their
little girl Ivanka has not been killed."

Here, then, was a piece of news for my mother and family!--for we had
regularly adopted Ivanka, and the dear child was to act that very day as
one of Bella's bridesmaids.

I immediately told my mother, but resolved to say nothing to Ivanka,
Nicholas, or Bella, till the ceremony was over.

It was inexpressibly sad to see Nicholas Naranovitsch that day, for,
despite the fact that by means of a cork foot he could walk slowly to
the church without the aid of a crutch, his empty sleeve, marred visage,
and slightly stooping gait, but poorly represented the handsome young
soldier of former days.

But my sister saw none of the blemishes--only the beauties--of the man.

"You've only got quarter of a husband, Bella," he said with a sad smile
when the ceremony was over.

"You were unnecessarily large before," retorted Bella. "You could stand
reducing; besides, you are doubled to-day, which makes you equal to two
quarters, and as the wife is proverbially the better half, that brings
you up nearly to three quarters, so don't talk any more nonsense, sir.
With good nursing I shall manage, perhaps, to make a whole of you once
more."

"So be it," said Nicholas, kissing her. When they had left us, my
mother called me--

"Jeff," she said, with a look of decision in her meek face which I have
not often observed there, "I have made up my mind that you must go back
to Turkey."

"In