an engagement of some length, so that she
might be sure of the wisdom of the step. But she only laughed in her
charming fashion, and declared she would not give up the old house, much
more its owner.

But they had a quiet wedding, with only the choicest friends, and then
they went to Boston to escape the wonderings. Cousin Giles was really
displeased.

"It's an unfair thing for an old fellow like you to do. And you had
money enough of your own; her fortune should have gone to help some nice
young fellow along. Why, really Cynthia has hardly outgrown childhood.
You might have been her father!"

"Hardly!" returned Chilian dryly.

On their return the house was opened and really crowded with guests.
Cynthia was in her most splendid attire. Happiness had certainly
improved Chilian Leverett, he had gained some flesh and looked younger.
The most beautiful belongings had been brought out to decorate the
rooms.

"For I am not going to have them stored away for possible
grandchildren," she declared gayly.

And the guests had a charming welcome. The younger girls were truly glad
she had made her election, and no one could deny that she was very much
in love with her husband. Neither had need to marry for money, since
both had fortunes. And they wished her health and happiness with all
their hearts.

Jane had said to her, "Mis' Leverett, there's an old adage:

"'Change the name and not the letter,
You marry for worse and not for better.'"

Cynthia laughed. "I'm not going to let signs or omens trouble me. And I
haven't even changed my name, so the letter cannot count. And it is one
of the good old Salem names. It was my dear father's."

One incident touched Cynthia deeply. Eunice took her up in the garret
one day and exhumed from a chest the beautiful white quilt of
Elizabeth's handiwork. Pinned to one corner was a card, "For my little
Cynthia."

"Only a few days before she had her stroke she made me write this and
go up and pin it on the quilt. Maybe she'd had a warning, people do
sometimes. I supposed she'd leave it to Chilian. Oh, my dear, she'd be
so glad to have you go on in the old house if she could know."

Eunice wiped the tears from her eyes. Cynthia bent over and kissed among
the stitches the poor fingers had toiled at day after day, sorry for the
toil, glad for the love that came at the last.

The Leverett house opened its doors with a generous hospitality. People,
men at least, bega