I can't say that I enjoyed my wedding. The bairns seemed to have lost their identity when they donned their wedding garments. Jim sat on the dickey beside the driver; there was pride in his face but his smile was gone. The occasion was too great for him. The girls stood about the dining-room in awkward attitudes, and I noted the fine English of their speech. And Jim failed at the wedding-feast. Part of his duty was to propose the health of the bridesmaids, and when the minister called upon him for his speech he fled from the room. Peter MacMannish proposed the toast instead. Margaret and I set off in a hired motor in the afternoon. We were going to London. When we reached the station Margaret suddenly said: "If only we could have stayed for the dance to-night!" "Yes," I said, "the bairns will be in form to-night." "We should really be there," continued Margaret sadly, "it's our dance you know." "And here we are going off to a hotel among strangers, Margaret!" Margaret clutched my arm. "Let's go back," she said eagerly, "we'll spend the first bit of our honeymoon in the dear old bothy!" I beckoned to a taxi-driver. As we drove up the brae to the farm Margaret laughed. "Do you know what I am laughing at?" she said. "I was thinking about you coming back. It's a sort of habit of yours coming back, isn't it? You don't care for me one bit; you are in love with Janet and Annie." "Who proposed coming back, madam?" "I did," she cried in great glee: "I noticed that you didn't seem keen on buying the tickets, and I knew you didn't want to go." When we walked into the dining-room there was consternation. Margaret's mother went very white. "What's wrong?" she stammered. "Goad! They've quarrelled already!" exclaimed Peter MacMannish in a hoarse whisper. "Did ye miss the train?" asked Janet. "No, Jan, we missed the supper, and we made up our minds that it was too good to miss. We're going to do an original thing; we're going to dance at our own wedding." The blacksmith struck up a waltz, and my wife and I waltzed round the room. I don't think that a wedding party was ever so jolly as ours. The bairns escorted us to our bothy at two in the morning, and Margaret insisted on giving them a cup of tea before they went home. Janet looked round the wee room. "Eh, Maggie, what an awfu' place to spend yer honeymoon in!" "Yes," said Margaret, "that's what comes of marrying a mean man. It's disgraceful, isn't it, Jan?" "What do ye ca' it when ye stop bein' married?" asked Annie. "A divorce," I said. "And is there a feed at a divorce?" asked Jim with an interested expression. "No, Jim; you are fed up before the divorce proceedings." "Aw wud divorce him, Maggie," said Annie. "It's difficult," laughed Margaret. "Ye cud say he wudna gie ye a proper honeymoon," put in Gladys. Annie sat down on my knee. "Why did ye come back?" she asked.