hat
have harps to them. He plays on the harp when the minister is saying
the words. Do you think it is going to be a very long wedding?"

A note of anxiety in the child's voice made Van Landing look at her
more closely, and as she raised her eyes to his something stirred
within him curiously. What an old little face it was! All glow and
eagerness, but much too thin and not half enough color, and the hat
over the loose brown curls was straw.

"I don't think it will be long." His voice was cheerfully decisive.
"That kind is usually soon over. Most of a wedding's time is taken in
getting ready for it. Did you say your father was over there?"

The child's head nodded. "They have a harp, so I know they are nice
people. Father can't give lessons any more, because he can't see but
just a teensy, weensy bit when the sun is shining. He used to play on
a big organ, and we used to have oysters almost any time, but that was
before Mother died. Father was awful sick after she died, and there
wasn't any money, and when he got well he was almost blind, and he
can't teach any more, and 'most all he does now is weddings and
funerals. I love him to go to weddings. He makes the others tell him
everything they see, and then he tells me, and we have the grandest
time making out we were sure enough invited, and talking of what we
thought was the best thing to eat, and whose dress was the prettiest,
and which lady was the loveliest--Oh, my goodness! Look there!"

Already some of the guests were departing; and Van Landing, looking at
his watch, saw it was twenty minutes past six. Obviously among those
present were some who failed to feel the enthusiasm for weddings that
his new friend felt. With a smile he put the watch away, and, placing
the child's feet more firmly on the railing, held her so that she
could rest against his shoulder. She could hardly be more than twelve
or thirteen, and undersized for that, but the oval face was one of
singular intelligence, and her eyes--her eyes were strangely like the
only eyes on earth he had ever loved, and as she settled herself more
comfortably his heart warmed curiously, warmed as it had not done for
years. Presently she looked down at him.

"I don't think you're a damanarkist." Her voice was joyous. "You're
so nice. Can you see good?"

"Very good. There isn't much to see. One might if it weren't for
that--"

"Old tunnel! I don't think they ought to have them if it isn't snowing
or raining.