Aunt Betsy hobbled among the crowd, her face aglow with the
satisfaction she felt at seeing her nieces so much admired and
appreciated, and her heart so full of good will and toleration that
after the supper was over, and she fancied a few of the younger ones
were beginning to feel tired, she suggested to Bell that she might start
a dance if she had a mind to, either in the kitchen or parlor, it did
not matter where, and "Ephraim would not care an atom," a remark which
brought from Mrs. Deacon Bannister a most withering look of reproach,
and slightly endangered Aunt Betsy's standing in the church. Perhaps
Bell Cameron suspected as much, for she replied that they were having a
splendid time as it was, and as Dr. Grant did not dance, they might as
well dispense with it altogether. And so it happened that there was no
dancing at Katy's wedding, and Uncle Ephraim escaped the reproof which
his brother deacon would have felt called upon to give him had he
permitted so grievous a sin, while Mrs. Deacon Bannister, who, at the
first trip of the toe, would have felt it her duty to depart, lest her
eyes should look upon the evil thing, was thus permitted to remain until
"it was out," and the guests retired _en masse_ to their respective
homes.

* * * * *

The carriage from Linwood stood at the farmhouse door, and Katy,
wrapped in shawls and hood, was ready to go with her husband to the home
where she knew so much of rest and quiet awaited her. There were no
tears shed at this parting, for their darling was not going far away;
her new home was just across the fields, and through the soft moonlight
they could see its chimney tops, and trace for some little distance the
road over which the carriage went, bearing her swiftly on, her hands
fast locked in Morris', her head upon his arm, and the hearts of both
too full of bliss for either to speak a word until Linwood was reached,
when, folding Katy to his bosom in a passionate embrace, Morris said to
her:

"We are home at last--your home and mine, my precious, precious wife."

The village clock was striking one, and the sound echoed across the
waters of Fairy Pond, awakening, in his marshy bed, a sleeping frog, who
sent forth upon the warm, still air a musical, plaintive note as Morris
bore his bride over the threshold and into the library, where on the
hearth a cheerful fire was blazing. He had ordered it kindled there, for
he had a fancy ere he slept