“What matters that to him? He has won himself a lasting name for courage and faithfulness, and that is a comfort. Now do put by these sad thoughts and let us talk of the wedding. Oh, by the way, I heard a piece of news; William says Becky Lowe is to marry Stephen Dean. He has won his lady-love after all these years of devotion. There is nothing like perseverance, you see. Poor Birket!” “Why, poor Birket?” “Because he didn’t persevere; he was too easily set back.” “Now, Betty, I never had a single thought of Birket. He is a nice lad, but too young for my liking.” “I know that, my dear grandmother, and I do not forget that your true love is a sailor lad.” “You mean he was. My dear love will never again be a sailor.” “There are other things he can be. He has been true to his word, has he, Lettice?” “Of course,” she returned proudly. “If he made a promise to William, he will keep it to the bitter end.” “Well, it is a great thing to be able to have faith in one’s true love. Here we are. Now let us see what we can find to make my little sister outshine the bride.” And they were soon absorbed in turning over mulls and muslins, till they settled upon what suited them. Then came a visit to the mantua-maker, and the two returned home in fine spirits. The days sped by, till the last day of the year brought Patsey’s wedding-day. Sylvia’s Ramble was opened to receive all the Hopkins tribe, and Aunt Martha, more excited than Lettice had ever seen her, went around with a duster from room to room. “Do sit down, Aunt Martha,” her niece begged. “You will be tired out before night, and these rooms are already as clean as hands can make them.” “My child, I can’t sit down. Why, Lettice, I am to see my husband to-day, after all these years.” She faltered, and mechanically moved her duster back and forth upon the already polished table, on which, all at once, a tear dropped. “There, I am getting in my dotage,” said Aunt Martha, turning away, ashamed of this evidence of emotion. “Hark! Lettice, do I hear wheels?” Lettice ran to the door. “Only Mose from the store, Aunt Martha,” she reported. “The boat is not in yet.” But it was not long before there was a shout and a hurrah, a clatter of hoofs and a rumble of wheels, the shrill laughter of little children, as the pickaninnies scampered to open the gates; and in they swept, the long-absent soldiers in the carriage, Joe and William on horseback, Patrick behind them all on a lively mule; then in another moment the master of Sylvia’s Ramble was at home again, while Lettice, laughing and crying, was clasping her father’s neck and gazing with loving eyes at his tanned, weather-beaten face. “Father, my dear, dear daddy, you are here safe and sound!” “Here, you people,” cried Joe, “I want you to know this is my wedding-day, and I expect all the fuss to be made over me.”