ed into
her calculations. She intended that the ship which had brought Ulysses
to her island should take him off again after a decent interval of
honeymoon; then she would confess all to Mrs. Bilkins, and be forgiven,
and Mr. Bilkins would not cancel that clause supposed to exist in his
will bequeathing two first-mortgage bonds of the Squedunk E. B. Co. to a
certain faithful servant. In the mean while she would add each month to
her store in the coffers of the Rivermouth Savings Bank; for Calypso had
a neat sum to her credit on the books of that provident institution.

But this could not be now. The volatile bridegroom had upset the
wisely conceived plan, and "all the fat was in the fire," as Margaret
philosophically put it. Mr. O'Rourke had been fully instructed in the
part he was to play, and, to do him justice, had honestly intended to
play it; but destiny was against him. It may be observed that destiny
and Mr. O'Rourke were not on very friendly terms.

After the ceremony had been performed and Margaret had stolen back to
the Bilkins mansion, as related, Mr. O'Rourke with his own skilful hands
had brewed a noble punch for the wedding guests. Standing at the head of
the table and stirring the pungent mixture in a small wash-tub purchased
for the occasion, Mr. O'Rourke came out in full flower. His flow of
wit, as he replenished the glasses, was as racy and seemingly as
inexhaustible as the punch itself. When Mrs. McLaughlin held out her
glass, inadvertently upside down, for her sixth ladleful, Mr. O'Rourke
gallantly declared it should be filled if he had to stand on his head
to do it. The elder Miss O'Leary whispered to Mrs. Connally that Mr.
O'Rourke was "a perfic gintleman," and the men in a body pronounced
him a bit of the raal shamrock. If Mr. O'Rourke was happy in brewing a
punch, he was happier in dispensing it, and happiest of all in drinking
a great deal of it himself. He toasted Mrs. Finnigan, the landlady, and
the late lamented Finnigan, the father, whom he had never seen, and Miss
Biddy Finnigan, the daughter, and a young toddling Finnigan, who was at
large in shockingly scant raiment. He drank to the company individually
and collectively, drank to the absent, drank to a tin-peddler who
chanced to pass the window, and indeed was in that propitiatory mood
when he would have drunk to the health of each separate animal that came
out of the Ark. It was in the midst of the confusion and applause which
followed