otographer and the postilion both came forward to help, but Sir
Somerled wouldn't let his bride be touched by them. He handed me into
the chaise himself, and sat down by my side. Off trotted our horses to a
little distance, and turned round again. The show was ready to begin.

Meanwhile, the others had been busy. They'd placed an anvil, real or
imitation, on the green in front of the house, for the pictures were all
to be taken out of doors. The blacksmith had begun to hammer away at a
horse-shoe, and that was our signal to dash up to the door. He stopped
hammering, pushed back his hat, and greeted us in pantomime. Sir
Somerled, playing his part well since it must be played, swung me out of
the chaise with an arm round my waist. Down fell my hood and my hair,
blowing round his face and hiding mine. He kissed my hand as the
blacksmith ran off into the house to get his book; and by this time I
was almost as wildly excited as if we had eloped. The camera was
grinding out photographs of everything that happened, no doubt, but just
then I forgot all about it, or that any one was looking at us. We
clasped hands over the anvil, Sir Somerled and I. As the blacksmith made
the motions of marrying us in haste, I looked across at my playfellow,
and at the same instant my playfellow looked across at me. I wanted him
to smile, and he would not! "Please _pretend_ you're delighted to marry
me," I mumbled. "Can't you see by my face how glad I am to get _you_?"

"So should I be to get you, if I were the fairy prince," said he, in so
kind a voice it was a pity the biograph couldn't snap it. I squeezed his
hand to thank him for playing up to me, and he squeezed mine to show
that he understood. I felt suddenly that we were the best and truest of
friends. Even meeting my mother can't make up for losing him out of my
life, though he has been in it such a short time, and strayed in only by
accident.

Whole we stood hand in hand, along came the red coach. Out leaped the
father, as the postilion drew his horses up, and the bride sought refuge
in the bridegroom's arms. It did seem real, and exciting!

"Too late! We're married," said I. But even that was not the end of the
play. The father had to threaten the bridegroom with his pistol, and the
bride had to throw herself between the two men. I can see now what fun
actresses have. I was quite sorry when it was all over and the biograph
men were packing up to go.

"We don't know how to thank you