r nearly a foot in height, were flowers or feathers.
Precious stones fastened the folds of rich kerchiefs, sparkled on dainty
fingers, or flashed with stray movements of fans that, however
discreetly waved, betrayed their trappings once in a while by some
coquettish tremulousness. The gentlemen were resplendent also in
gold-laced coats and small clothes, gold, or diamond shoe buckles,
powdered wigs and queues, and with ruffles of the richest lace about
their wrists. These guests, who were among the people that in
themselves, or their descendants, were destined to give the world a new
nation, strong and free, showed all that regard to the details of
fashion said to characterize incipient decay in races. But with them it
was only an accessory of position, everything was on a foundation of
reality, it all represented a substantial wealth displaying itself
without effort. The Sherburnes were there, the Atkinsons, the
Pickerings, Governor Wentworth, the first of the Governors after New
Hampshire separated from Massachusetts and went into business for
itself, and others of the Wentworth family. Conspicuous among the guests
was Colonel Pepperrell who had already proved that the heart of a strong
man beat under his laced coat. His wife, well-born and fine-looking, was
beside him, and his son, fresh from College honors, and sipping eagerly
the sparkling draught of life that was to be over for him so soon; his
daughter also, last year a bride, and her husband. These were leaders in
that brilliant assembly called together to the marriage of Katie and
Stephen Archdale.

While waiting for the event of the morning they talked in low tones
among themselves of the wedding, or more audibly, of personal, or of
political affairs.

"It wants only ten minutes of the hour," said one lady, "perhaps our
good parson may not come this morning."

"What do you mean?" asked her companion.

"Why, this; that his wife, perhaps, will lock his study door upon him as
she did one Sabbath when we all went to the house of God and found the
pulpit empty. There's no end to all the malicious tricks she plays him.
Poor, good man."

"Do you know," said a beruffled gentleman in another part of the room to
his next neighbor, "what a preposterous proposal that ragged fellow,
Bill Goulding, made to Governor Wentworth last week? He is a
good-for-nothing, and the whole scheme is thought to have been merely a
plan to talk with the Governor, whom he has wanted to