Of course, whether a wedding was a good one or a bad one (speaking from a pecuniary point of view), it was equally the custom to feast over it in Honey Fair. Benjamin Tyrrett was only what is called a jobber in the glove trade, earning fifteen or sixteen shillings a week; but Mary Ann Cross made up her mind to have him--in defiance of parental and other admonitions that she ought to look over Ben's head. They had gone to work Honey Fair fashion, preparing nothing. Every shilling that Mary Ann Cross could spare went in finery--had long gone in finery. In vain Charlotte East impressed upon her the necessity of saving: of waiting. Mary Ann would do neither one nor the other. "All that you can spare from back debts, and from present actual wants, you should put by," Charlotte had urged. "You don't know how many more calls there are for money after marriage than before it." "There'll be two of us to earn it then," logically replied Mary Ann. "And two of you to live," said Charlotte. "To marry upon nothing is to rush into trouble." "How you do go on, Charlotte East! He'll earn his wages, and I shall earn mine. Where'll be the trouble? I shan't want to spend so much upon my back when I am married." "To marry as you are going to do, must bring trouble," persisted Charlotte. "He will manage to get together a few bits of cheap furniture, just what you can't do without, to put into one room; and there you will be set up, neither of you having one sixpence laid by to fall back upon; and perhaps the furniture unpaid, hanging like a log upon you. What shall you do when children come, Mary Ann?" Mary Ann Cross giggled. "If ever I heard the like of you, Charlotte! If children do come, they must come, that's all. We can't send 'em back again." "No, you can't," said Charlotte. "They generally arrive in pretty good troops: and sometimes there's little to welcome them on. Half the quarrels between man and wife, in our class of life, spring from nothing but large families and small means. Their tempers get soured with each other, and never get pleased again." "Folks must take their chance, Charlotte." "There's no _must_ in it. You are nineteen, Ben Tyrrett's twenty-three; suppose you made up your minds to wait two or three years. You would be quite young enough then: and meanwhile, if both of you laid by, you would have something in hand to meet extra expenses, or sickness if it came." "Opinions differs," shortly returned Mary Ann. "If folks tell true, you were putting by ever so long for your marriage, and it all ended in smoke. I'd rather make sure of a husband when I can get him." An expression of pain crossed the face of Charlotte East. "Whether I marry or not," she answered calmly, "I shall be none the worse for having laid money by instead of squandering it. If the best man that ever was born came to me, I would not marry him if we had made no better provision for a rainy day than you and Tyrrett have. What can come of such unions, Mary Ann?"