"My, what a big beauty!" exclaimed Grizzel. "Do take it, Grizzel, for my hands be all cramped with its weight," said Mrs. Standish: who, as it turned out, had been over to Roper's lodgings, a mile and a half away, with a view to seeing what had become of the bridegroom elect. And she nearly threw the pie into Grizzel's arms, and took down her gown. "And what do Roper say?" asked Grizzel. "And why have he not been here?" "Roper's not at home," said Mary Standish. "He come in from work about six; washed and put hisself to rights a bit, and then went out with a big bundle. Mrs. Dodd called after him to bring the pie, but he called back again that the pie might wait." "What was in the bundle?" questioned Grizzel, resenting the slight shown to the pie. "Well, by the looks on't, Mother Dodd thought 'twas his working clothes packed up," replied Mary Standish. "His working clothes!" cried Grizzel. "A going to take 'em to the tailor's, maybe, to get 'em done up. And not afore they wanted it." "Why, it's spending money for nothing," was Grizzel's comment. "I could ha' done up them clothes." "Well, it's what Mother Dodd thought," concluded Mary Standish. We said good night, and went racing home, leaving the two women at the door, Grizzel lodging the heavy blackberry pie on the old grindstone. * * * * * It was a glorious day for Grizzel's wedding. The hour fixed by the clerk (old Bumford) was ten o'clock, so that it might be got well over before the bell rang out for service. We reached the church early. Amongst the few spectators already there was cross-grained Molly, pocketing her ill-temper and for once meaning to be gracious to Grizzel. Ten o'clock struck, and the big old clock went ticking on. Clerk Bumford (a pompous man when free from gout) began abusing the wedding-party for not keeping its time. The quarter past was striking when Grizzel came up, with Mary Standish and a young girl. She looked white and nervous, and not at all at ease in her bridal attire--a green gown of some kind of stuff, and no end of pink ribbons: the choice of colours being Grizzel's own. "Is Roper here yet?" whispered Mary Standish. "Not yet." "It's too bad of him!" she continued. "Never to send a body word whether he meant to call for us, or not: and us a waiting there till now, expecting of him." But where was George Roper? And (as old Bumford asked) what did he mean by it? The clergyman in his surplice and hood looked out at the vestry twice, as if questioning what the delay meant. We stood just inside the porch, and Grizzel grew whiter and whiter. "Just a few minutes more o' this delay, and there won't be no wedding at all this blessed morning," announced Clerk Bumford for the public benefit. "George Roper wants a good blowing up, he do."