during the short
interval that preceded the wedding day. And when at last that glorious
morning dawned cloudless and fair, what a scarlet, shining, spotless
cavalcade of McGregors its radiant light shone upon!

First there was Mrs. McGregor, hot but triumphant in a petticoat that
crackled like brittle ice beneath her black alpaca skirt and a pair of
white cotton gloves at the fingers of which she was continually
tugging. Both her hat and Mary's gleamed ebon under a recent coat of
blacking--so recent that they entertained some concern lest it trickle
down their heated faces in disfiguring rivulets. Mary's white dress
rustled as crisply as did her mother's petticoat and her hair, crimped
and ironed until it was fuzzy as a bushman's, drifted out behind her, a
hempen whirlwind. New flowers on her hat and accompanying pink
streamers afforded her tranquil satisfaction as did also the string of
coral beads Uncle Frederick had once sent from Naples, a gift worn only
on very special occasions.

As for the boys, every hair of their heads had been plastered securely
into place, and blistered with scrubbing, they stood wretched but
hopeful in a row waiting with patience the moment when clean shirts,
creased trousers, and sparkling boots might be forgotten in the
delights the Coulter party promised.

Even Nell and the baby looked unnatural and reflected the general
discomfort and self-consciousness.

The getting-ready had been a fatiguing ordeal and everybody's nerves
were at the breaking point. Systematically Mrs. McGregor had proceeded
with the process, beginning with the eldest of the family, and as each
work of art was completed it was set aside much as a frosted cake is
set away to cool, and the next victim was summoned.

In the meantime those who had been _finished_, motionless in chairs,
were allowed the entertainment of watching each succeeding martyr put
through his round of torture. Yet diverting as this had been, the
waiting had been tedious, particularly for those who stood at the head
of the line.

Now, the rite over, everybody drew a long breath and struggled to
forget past miseries. Therefore when Hal and Louise Harling, who were
to augment the procession, arrived, every cloud was put to flight and
the delegation set forth in the highest of spirits.

"What a pity it is Uncle Frederick Dillingham isn't here!" commented
Mrs. McGregor, as they went along. "And what a shame, too, that
Grandfather Harling and your