in marriage to Rev.
Alfred William Henry Curtis Moreland, Rector of St. Albans, Tilbury-on-
the-Stoke, and followed this with the information that Mr. and Mrs.
Alfred William Henry Curtis Moreland would be at home after January the
first in the Rectory, Appleblossom Court, Parklane Road, Tilbury-on-
the-Stoke.

The envelope also contained a sweetly happy, fluttery little note from
Aunt Patience, saying she hoped they were well, and that she would try
to be a good mother to the Rector's four little boys.

The small white box contained two squares of wedding cake!

THE RUNAWAY GRANDMOTHER

(Reprinted by permission of _The Globe_, Toronto.)

George Shaw came back to his desolate hearth, and, sitting by the
untidy table, thought bitter things of women. The stove dripped ashes;
the table overflowed with dirty dishes.

His last housekeeper had been gone a week--she had left by request.
Incidentally there disappeared at the same time towels, pillow-covers,
a few small tools, and many other articles which are of a size to go in
a trunk.

His former housekeeper, second to the last, had been a teary-eyed
English lady, who, as a child, had played with King George, and was
well beloved by all the Royal family. She had a soul above work, and
utterly despised Canadians. Once, when her employer remonstrated with
her for wearing his best overcoat when she went to milk, she fell
a-weeping and declared she wasn't going to be put on. Mr. Shaw said the
same thing about his coat, and it led to unpleasantness. The next day
he found her picking chips in his brown derby, and when he expressed
his disapproval she told him it was no fit hat for a young man like
him--he should have a topper. Mr. Shaw decided that he would try to do
without her.

Before that he had had a red-cheeked Irishwoman, who cooked so well,
scrubbed so industriously, that he had thought his troubles were all
over. But one day she went to Millford, and came home in a state of
wild exhilaration, with more of the same in a large black bottle. When
Mr. Shaw came to put away the horse, she struck him over the head with
her handbag, playfully blackening one of his eyes, and then begged him
to come and make up--"kiss and forgit, like the swate pet that he was."

Exit Mrs. Murphy.

George Shaw decided to do his own cooking, but in three days every dish
in the house was dirty; the teapot was full of leaves, the stove full
of ashes, and the floor was slippery.