here seemed to be no help for it; but that was the first point
relating to the wedding concerning which Ham Morris was permitted to
have exactly his own way. His success made Dab Kinzer a fast friend of
his for life, and that was something.

There was also something new and wonderful to Dabney himself in
walking into a tailor's shop, picking out cloth to please himself, and
being so carefully measured all over. He stretched and swelled himself
in all directions, to make sure nothing should turn out too small. At
the end of it all, Ham said to him:

"Now, Dab, my boy, this suit is to be a present from me to you, on
Miranda's account."

Dab colored and hesitated for a moment; but it seemed all right, he
thought, and so he came frankly out with:

"Thank you, Ham. You always was a prime good fellow. I'll do as much
for you some day. Tell you what I'll do, then. I'll have another suit
made, right away, of this other cloth, and have the bill for that one
sent to our folks."

"Do it!" exclaimed Ham. "Do it! You've your mother's orders for that.
She's nothing to do with my gift."

"Splendid!" almost shouted Dab. "Oh, but don't I hope they'll fit!"

"Vit?" said the tailor. "Vill zay vit? I dell you zay vit you like a
knife. You vait und zee."

Dab failed to get a very clear idea of what the fit would be, but it
made him almost hold his breath to think of it.

After the triumphant visit to the tailor, there was still a necessity
for a call upon the shoe-maker, and that was a matter of no small
importance. Dab's feet had always been a mystery and a trial to him.
If his memory contained one record darker than another, it was the
endless history of his misadventures with boots and shoes. He and
leather had been at war from the day he left his creeping clothes
until now. But now he was promised a pair of shoes that would be sure
to fit.

So the question of Dab's personal appearance at the wedding was all
arranged between him and Ham; and Miranda smiled more sweetly than
ever before upon the latter, after she had heard her usually silent
brother break out so enthusiastically about him as he did that
evening.

It was a good thing for that wedding that it took place in fine summer
weather, for neither kith, kin, nor acquaintances had been slighted in
the invitations, and the Kinzers were one of the "oldest families."

To have gathered them all under the roof of that house, without either
stretching it out wider or boilin