"And whatever you do, father," said Meg, "don't eat tripe again without asking some doctor whether it's likely to agree with you; for how you _have_ been going on! Good gracious!" She was working with her needle at the little table by the fire, dressing her simple gown with ribbons for her wedding--so quietly happy, so blooming and youthful, so full of beautiful promise that he uttered a great cry as if it were an angel in his house, then flew to clasp her in his arms. But he caught his feet in the newspaper, which had fallen on the hearth, and somebody came rushing in between them. "No!" cried the voice of this same somebody. A generous and jolly voice it was! "Not even you; not even you. The first kiss of Meg in the New Year is mine--mine! I have been waiting outside the house this hour to hear the bells and claim it. Meg, my precious prize, a happy year! A life of happy years, my darling wife!" And Richard smothered her with kisses. You never in all your life saw anything like Trotty after this, I don't care where you have lived or what you have seen; you never in your life saw anything at all approaching him! He kept running up to Meg, and squeezing her fresh face between his hands and kissing it, going from her backwards not to lose sight of it, and running up again like a figure in a magic lantern; and whatever he did, he was constantly sitting himself down in his chair, and never stopping in it for one single moment, being--that's the truth--beside himself with joy. "And to-morrow's your wedding-day, my pet!" cried Trotty. "Your real, happy wedding-day!" "To-day!" cried Richard, shaking hands with him. "To-day. The chimes are ringing in the New Year. Hear them!" They _were_ ringing! Bless their sturdy hearts, they _were_ ringing! Great bells as they were--melodious, deep-mouthed, noble bells, cast in no common metal, made by no common founder--when had they ever chimed like that before? Trotty was backing off to that wonderful chair again, when the child, who had been awakened by the noise, came running in half-dressed. "Why, here she is!" cried Trotty, catching her up. "Here's little Lilian! Ha, ha, ha! Here we are and here we go. Oh, here we are and here we go again! And here we are and here we go! And Uncle Will, too!" Before Will Fern could make the least reply, a band of music burst into the room, attended by a flock of neighbors, screaming, "A Happy New Year, Meg!" "A happy wedding!" "Many of 'em!" and other fragmentary good-wishes of that sort. The Drum (who was a private friend of Trotty's) then stepped forward and said: "Trotty Veck, my boy, it's got about that your daughter is going to be married to-morrow. There ain't a soul that knows you that don't wish you well, or that knows her and don't wish her well. Or that knows you both, and don't wish you both all the happiness the New Year can bring. And here we are to play it in and dance it in accordingly."