lls pealed joyously, the church
organ bellowed noisily, the formality of congratulations followed along
with the flutter of praises for the bride and groom, which they received
because it was eminently proper and expected; a hurried breakfast, still
more hasty good-byes, the whistle of an approaching train amid the
excitement of baggage checked, lost or forgotten, a rush of depot
farewells, a waving of handkerchiefs, a few misty eyes, then Hazel had a
chance to breathe a long sigh of relief and Jack to unburden some
pent-up adjectives as he picked rice out of his wife's hair and removed
the tell-tale labels, ribbons and signs which decorated umbrellas, suit
cases and wraps.

"Jack," whispered Hazel, as she nestled close to him in the railroad
coach in which was no one but an old man, the train attendant being on
the platform. "I was 'skeert' until you squeezed my hand, and I trembled
all over. I thought I should faint, but I'm your wife, ain't I, Jack?"

"Yes, you are an old married lady now," answered Jack, dogmatically.

"An old married lady," repeated Hazel slowly, lapsing into a brown study
for a moment. "Jack, is it such an awful long time since I was a little
girl and you pulled my sled on the hill for me?"

"No, dear, it is but yesterday and it will be yesterday always, even if
we live for a hundred years. Don't you know, 'It's only once in life
one's boots have copper toes,' and my 'copper-toed' age was the happiest
part of my life."

"Until today, Jack," interrupted Hazel, very decidedly.

"Yes?" inquiringly replied Jack.

The time for Jack to make his regular visit to the mine had also been
selected for his wedding trip and Chiquita was to join the newly married
pair at Denver, then all three were to "do" Colorado, finishing by
spending a few weeks in Estes Park and the Buena Vista ranch, as
Chiquita called her wonderful summer abode, later going on to
California. Jack had purchased a fine equipment of split bamboo fly rods
and all the necessary accompaniments, while Hazel, equally ardent in her
admiration of the sport so fascinating to the disciples of Izaak Walton,
fashioned, with her own hands, elegant rod cases, fly books and natty
garments for the outing. Conspicuous among the latter was a short
walking skirt and Eton jacket of brown duck, trimmed with bands of white
and studded with brass buttons, in which she arrayed herself and
practiced fly casting for imaginary trout on the lawn. A stop of an