hard and fast, it's _my_ opinion Birkdale will trifle
with it to suit his own ends. Jude's taking chances when he annexes
Jared to his responsibilities, and don't you forget it! If that marriage
ain't hide-bound, or if Jude don't provide for Birkdale, it's going to
be broke if Jared has to raise all damnation to do it. He's got his eye
to a knothole somewhere, you bet your life on that."

By superhuman sacrifice St. Ange had kept itself sober the Saturday
night preceding the wedding but it did not sleep much. The male
population discussed the day's doings and the women searched their
meagre belongings for appropriate trappings for the next day's
festivities.

Their resources were limited, and the day being Sunday, added to the
difficulty.

"You can't," said draggled Peggy Falstar, "put on real gay toggings in a
church and on a Sunday."

Isa Tate, as leading lady in the place, solved the problem.

"We've got our mourning," she said to Peggy and the others gathered in
Peggy's dirty kitchen. "We always have that on hand. Now we can leave
off the long veils and put some false flowers on our bonnets--real
spruce ones. They will lighten up the black. Them as has black gloves
can wear them, but by carrying a clean handkercher real conspicuous, the
gloom will be brightened some."

"I ain't had a pair of gloves in seventeen years," moaned Peggy.

"Well, you can sort of wind yer handkercher around your hands,"
comforted Isa.

"My feelings may be overcome," said Peggy; "they generally is in
public, and then I'll have to use my handkercher and show my hands."

"You'll have to control yourself." Isa looked grim. "And, land o' love,
a wedding ain't no place for wailing. Tate and me has given Joyce a real
smart white dress, and she's trimmed her old hat all up with little
frost flowers. She's a dabster at fixin' things. She's going to look
real stylish. You know her mother was that way, though it was sorter
knocked out of her, but the last thing she said to me was, 'Isa, I want
you to put my grandmother's specs on me when I'm gone. Specs is dreadful
stylish, and I've always looked forward to my eyes giving out so I could
wear them. My eyes,' says she, 'has lasted better than me, but I want to
be buried in my specs'; and so she was!"

The women all wiped their eyes.

"She was a powerful impressive corpse," whimpered Peggy, "but them specs
gave me a terrible turn when I saw them first. The second look sorter
took away the