r. "What do you mean
by speaking of the Judgment Day in the past tense?"

The Story Girl told him the tale of that dreadful Sunday in the
preceding summer and we all laughed with him at ourselves.

"All the same," muttered Peter, "I don't want to have another experience
like that. I hope I'll be dead the next time the Judgment Day comes."

"But you'll be raised up for it," said Felix.

"Oh, that'll be all right. I won't mind that. I won't know anything
about it till it really happens. It's the expecting it that's the
worst."

"I don't think you ought to talk of such things," said Felicity.

When evening came we all went to Golden Milestone. We knew the Awkward
Man and his bride were expected home at sunset, and we meant to scatter
flowers on the path by which she must enter her new home. It was the
Story Girl's idea, but I don't think Aunt Janet would have let us go if
Uncle Blair had not pleaded for us. He asked to be taken along, too, and
we agreed, if he would stand out of sight when the newly married pair
came home.

"You see, father, the Awkward Man won't mind us, because we're only
children and he knows us well," explained the Story Girl, "but if
he sees you, a stranger, it might confuse him and we might spoil the
homecoming, and that would be such a pity."

So we went to Golden Milestone, laden with all the flowery spoil we
could plunder from both gardens. It was a clear amber-tinted September
evening and far away, over Markdale Harbour, a great round red moon
was rising as we waited. Uncle Blair was hidden behind the wind-blown
tassels of the pines at the gate, but he and the Story Girl kept waving
their hands at each other and calling out gay, mirthful jests.

"Do you really feel acquainted with your father?" whispered Sara Ray
wonderingly. "It's long since you saw him."

"If I hadn't seen him for a hundred years it wouldn't make any
difference that way," laughed the Story Girl.

"S-s-h-s-s-h--they're coming," whispered Felicity excitedly.

And then they came--Beautiful Alice blushing and lovely, in the
prettiest of pretty blue dresses, and the Awkward Man, so fervently
happy that he quite forgot to be awkward. He lifted her out of the buggy
gallantly and led her forward to us, smiling. We retreated before them,
scattering our flowers lavishly on the path, and Alice Dale walked to
the very doorstep of her new home over a carpet of blossoms. On the
step they both paused and turned towards us, and w