"Eh, sirs," began Mary Haigh, her emotion getting the better of the awe which had overpowered her from the moment she entered Bent Hall. "Eh, sirs, I've mothered Abe Holmes sin' foist he were prenticed an weel aw knew he'd ring true when th' testin' time came." "And what say you, Mr. Hoyle," said our genial host. "I'm told you're a rare exhorter." Enoch cleared his throat. "I sud like a pint o' small beer afore aw rise to th' occasion. This dancin' stuff gets into mi yead, tho' there are folk 'at seyn old Enoch's poll's one o' th' strongest between Scammonden an' Slowit." A quiet order was given to a neat maid, and a foaming two-handled tankard was placed before Enoch, but we were not destined to hear Enoch at large, an injury he may have forgiven, but certainly never forgot. For Mr. Buckley, after a meaning look from his wife, who had glanced at her watch, rose and completed the tale of the bewildering surprises that day had had in store for us. "Perhaps, as time presses, Mr. Hoyle will give way for me. The coach for Blackpool leaves shortly; the brides will find, my good lady says, their away-going garments upstairs. But, before we part I have this to say. Ever since we discovered Miriam it had been my intention to provide for her. Now I'm getting on, and should like to ease the strain of my business. "I've had my eyes on both Abe and Jim. I can tell you. There's room for young blood at Micklehurst Mills, and if that blood runs in the veins of Abel Holmes and Jim Haigh nobody will be better pleased than myself. Now, ladies, off with you and get out of your finery. Time and tide and coaches wait for no man. Mr. Holmes, will you return thanks?" My father glanced at the curate, who waved to him a somewhat condescending assent, so the last word at that eventful feast, and that a heartfelt and eloquent word of thanksgiving to the Giver of all good gifts, was spoken by my dear and honoured father. And now, dear reader, we must part company we have journeyed together through strange adventures, and my story is done. "Always have your peroration ready, for you never know how soon you may need it," was sound advice. But I think this tale needs no peroration, for if I have succeeded even faintly, in giving a true insight into the characters of Miriam and Ruth and Jim--I'll say nought of myself--you may close this little volume on the full assurance that the lives united on that happy September day had their fair share of the sunshine of life. I am the father of two fine sons and a daughter, who bids fair to be nearly as good to look upon as my Miriam, and unite to six sturdy little Haigh lads and one bright maiden, who, I fear me, will prove as great a tyrant as Jim declares our Ruth to be.