collar and red tie, while near by sat a tall, unnaturally rosy-cheeked
spinster dressed in a trailing white gown, with orange blossoms
covering a white veil hung over her hair, and an immense feather fan
in her white-gloved hand. Around the room, decorated with some
Christmas greens and lit by a red-hot stove, was gathered a group of
interested observers of all descriptions--some evidently invited
guests, some as evidently not.

"Mr. Parson, this 'ere's my gal, come from down East. We want to get
spliced, and," with a blush, "we're waitin' for ye to do it."

"Why, Lem, I can't!" stammered Job, quite abashed and taken aback at
the occurrence.

"Oh, yes," interrupted Lem, "I thought of that. Here's the paper--got
it myself of the clerk. Read it. See, here it is: 'Lemuel Jones, a
native of Maine and resident of the county of Grizzly, aged
thirty-seven, and Phebe Ann Standish, a native of Massachusetts,
resident of Boston, State of Massachusetts, aged thirty-one--'"

Quick as a flash, drowning Job's protest that he was not a preacher,
came a woman's shrill voice:

"Thirty-one! I'd like to know who said I was thirty-one! Lem Jones,
take your pen and ink, and correct that. Anybody would know I am only
twenty-one!"

A general laugh followed. Job finally found a chance to make the pair
understand that his performing the ceremony was out of the question,
as he had no legal authority--was not a minister.

The wedding party broke up in confusion. The cook was filled with
wrath at Job for spoiling the dinner; "the boys" insisted that he had
kept Jones from "settin' it up," and ought to do so himself; the bride
refused to be comforted and vowed she would go back to Boston.

It was less than a week after the wedding which did not come off, that
Job saw Dan at the pay-window beckoning to him. Going nearer, Dan
motioned him to lean over, drew him close, and whispered in his ear:

"I'm broke, Job, but got a fine chance to clear a slick hundred. Lend
me fifty till to-morrow."

"I can't do that, Dan," Job replied. "It's not mine, and I wouldn't
take a cent of the company's money for myself."

"Ye're a pretty parson!" hissed Dan, "sayin' prayers over dyin' folks,
and never helpin' yer own cousin out of a tight place!"

"But, Dan, I can't take the company's money. If I had fifty of my own
you should have it, though I suspect you want to gamble with it,"
replied Job.

"Yer won't give it to me?" said the other.

"No, I can't