ld uncle a kiss to
remember you by?"

Ruth, who had heard the last words, came down to the gravelled walk.
"Aunt Jane is coming," she announced, and Hepsey fled.

When the lady of the house appeared, Uncle James was sitting at one end
of the piazza and Ruth at the other, exchanging decorous commonplaces.

XIII. Plans

Hepsey had been gone an hour before Mrs. Ball realised that she had sent
away one of the witnesses of her approaching wedding. "It don't matter,"
she said to Ruth, "I guess there's others to be had. I've got the dress
and the man and one of 'em and I have faith that the other things will
come."

Nevertheless, the problem assumed undue proportions. After long study,
she decided upon the minister's wife. "If 'twa'nt that the numskulls
round here couldn't understand two weddin's," she said, "I'd have it in
the church, as me and James first planned."

Preparations for the ceremony went forward with Aunt Jane's customary
decision and briskness. She made a wedding cake, assisted by Mr. Ball,
and gathered all the flowers in the garden. There was something pathetic
about her pleasure; it was as though a wedding had been laid away in
lavender, not to see the light for more than thirty years.

Ruth was to assist in dressing the bride and then go after the minister
and his wife, who, by Aunt Jane's decree, were to have no previous
warning. "'T ain't necessary to tell 'em beforehand, not as I see," said
Mrs. Ball. "You must ask fust if they're both to home, and if only one
of 'em is there, you'll have to find somebody else. If the minister's to
home and his wife ain't gaddin', he'll get them four dollars in James's
belt, leavin' an even two hundred, or do you think two dollars would be
enough for a plain marriage?"

"I'd leave that to Uncle James, Aunty."

"I reckon you're right, Ruth--you've got the Hathaway sense."

The old wedding gown was brought down from the attic and taken out of
its winding sheet. It had been carefully folded, but every crease showed
plainly and parts of it had changed in colour. Aunt Jane put on her best
"foretop," which was entirely dark, with no softening grey hair, and was
reserved for occasions of high state. A long brown curl, which was hers
by right of purchase, was pinned to the hard, uncompromising twist at
the back of her neck.

Ruth helped her into the gown and, as it slipped over her head, she
inquired, from the depths of it: "Is the front door locked?"

"Yes,