s on their appearance.

"My oath, yer a sight fer sore eyes, yous are!" he cried. "I'm glad
yer don't know 'ow giddy yer look, else us blokes wouldn't 'ave a
chance, would we, Chook?"

The girls bridled with pleasure at the rude compliments, pretending not
to hear them, feeling very desirable and womanly in their finery.

"Dickon ter you," said Mrs Yabsley. "Yer needn't think they're got up
ter kill ter please yous. It's only ter give their clobber an airin',
an' keep out the moths."

When it was time to set out for the church, the five were quite at
their ease, grinning and giggling at the familiar jokes on marriage,
broad as a barn door, dating from the Flood. Mrs Yabsley toiled in the
rear of the bridal procession, fighting for wind on account of the
hill. She kept her fist shut on the two half-dollars for the parson;
the wedding ring, jammed on the first joint of her little finger for
safety, gave her an atrocious pain. At length they reached Cleveland
street, and halted opposite the church.

The square tower of Trinity Church threw its massive outline against
the faint glow of the city lights, keeping watch and ward over the
church, that had grown grey in the service of God, like a fortress of
the Lord planted on hostile ground. And they stood together, the grim
tower and the grey church, for a symbol of immemorial things--a
stronghold and a refuge.

The wedding party walked into the churchyard on tiptoe as if they were
trespassers. Then, unable to find the door in the dark, they walked
softly round the building, trying to see what was going on inside
through the stained-glass windows. Their suspicious movements
attracted the attention of the verger, and he followed them with
stealthy movements, convinced that they meditated a burglary. When he
learned their errand, he took charge of the party. They entered the
church like foreigners in a remote land. Another wedding was in
progress, so they sat down in the narrow, uncomfortable pews, waiting
their turn. When Chook caught sight of the Canon in his surplice and
bands, he uttered a cry of amazement.

"Look at the old bloke. 'E's wearin' 'is shirt outside!"

The two girls were convulsed, turning crimson with the effort to
repress their giggles. Mrs Yabsley was annoyed, feeling that they were
treating the matter as a farce.

"I'm ashamed o' yer, Chook," she remarked severely. "Yer the two ends
an' middle of a 'eathen. That's wot they call '