"methinks you take over much upon yourself in this our
land of liberty and God-given rights. Why should you decide so
absolutely for Mistress Standish? Why may not she speak her own mind.
She at least has no narrow and ignorant prejudice against me, unless
indeed you have already instilled it into her mind."

"Nay now, Allerton, dost in sober sadness suppose that in meeting my
kinswoman after a five years' parting I chose you as my theme of
discourse? As for the rest, I lay no constraint upon Mistress Standish.
Speak to her if you will and as soon as you will, but tell her all the
story, tell her of your grown children, and of your years"--

"They are no more than yours," sharply interrupted the councilor.

"Did I say they were? Well, speak to her I say--ha, here come the
brides. Now trumpets!"

And as the trumpets blew a joyous fanfare and the drums and fife burst
forth in a blithe jargon intended for the good old tune of Haste to the
Wedding, out from the door of the governor's house came Bradford leading
Alice Southworth, fair and delicate and sweet, yet with a little air of
state about her, as one who had already known the honors of matronhood
and now was called to become the wife of a ruler. Next came Priscilla,
dressed in a fair white gown trimmed with old Flemish lace at which
Mistress Winslow looked askance, her rich color a little subdued, and a
somewhat tremulous curve to her ripe lips, while the great brown eyes
were filled with a dreamy haze not far from tears. She was wedding the
man of her love, but she stood all alone beside him, this brave yet
tender-hearted Priscilla of ours,--she stood alone, and she thought of
her mother, the mother so loved, so mourned, so near to that faithful
heart to-day.

Then came well-born, well-nurtured John Winslow and Mary Chilton, the
fair English May whose sweet blossoms are ever upheld by such a sturdy
and healthy stock, ay, and are protected by substantial thorns from
meddling fingers even while its fragrance is graciously shed abroad for
all the world to glory in.

And last of all came John Howland, that "lusty yonge man" who on the
voyage had been washed overboard and carried fathoms deep beneath the
sea, yet by his courage and endurance survived the ordeal, and lived to
found one of the chiefest Plymouth families. By the hand he led
Elizabeth Tilley, a sweet slip of a girl, with true and loving eyes ever
and anon glancing proudly at the stalwart form of the only