“For Mr. and Mrs. Waddles, and they are from _us_, because,--because, you see, we think that if Happy had not mixed up the drag-hunt we might have kept on misunderstanding and wandering around Robin Hood’s barn always.” “They are perfectly lovely, and too good for every day,” said Anne, fastening one on Happy, but having to coax Waddles, who was always suspicious of new-fangled things. “But don’t you really, truly think, dear Miss Letty, that the poor old barbed wire fence deserves a silver collar, too?” CHAPTER XV THE WEDDING The wedding was in May, exactly a year from the day of the poison ivy luncheon. All Dogtown was invited, and filled the gray stone church on the hillside to overflowing, even though the dogs attended by proxy, except in a few rare cases. Laddie was one of these, for Mrs. Carr never went without him, and he sat quietly beside her like a little old man, with bent head and silvery locks. Mrs. Carr herself was resplendent in a new black cloak, and a close silk bonnet of the bride’s making took the place of the old pointed hood. Her gift was her precious old Lowestoft teaset. “I’ve had my pride o’ it,” she said, when Miss Jule had remonstrated with her, “and when I gie a gift I like it o’ gude stuff.” Anne was maid of honour, and Tommy wept bitterly because he could not be best man. However, he managed to be quite prominent as it was. The day was perfect, and both the church and the quaint, low-studded rooms at the Hilltop Farm were turned into gardens by the great sprays and wreaths of white lilacs and dogwood with which Miss Jule and the Happy Hall people had covered even the walls. The dogs of all three families had been brushed, and their collars decorated with immense bows of white ribbon; but they were carefully locked up during the ceremony, to be ready to appear at the breakfast, for if Waddles had gone near enough to the church to have heard the organ play, his baying would have certainly brought the wedding march to an untimely end. As it was, all promised well, and as Miss Letty crossed the vine-draped church porch, the people who watched thought that never had there been a sweeter girl bride. On the side nearest to Anne a dimple that would come and go, and threatened to end in a smile, broke the seriousness of her face, and the cause of it was at first hidden by the folds of her veil and train. It was Tip, the devoted spaniel, who, climbing out of the window of the room where he was prisoned, had dropped first to the porch and then the ground, and caught up with the procession just in time to slip into the church unnoticed, except by her he was following. [Illustration]