"Yes, riz in a dream. I thought I'd shot 'er. I was follerin' 'er all night. Sometimes she was one thing, an' sometimes she was another, but I drew a bead on 'er, an' down she went, an' up come my har quicker nor lightnin'. I don't s'pose it looks very purty, but I can't help it." "Have you tried anything on it?" inquired Mr. Snow with a puzzled look. "Yis, everything but a hot flat iron, an' I'm a little afraid o' that. If wust comes to wust, it'll have to be did, though. It may warm up my old brains a little, but if my har is well sprinkled, and the thing is handled lively, it'll pay for tryin'." The perfect candor and coolness of Jim's manner were too much for the unsuspicious spirit of the minister, who thought it all very strange. He had heard of such things, but this was the first instance he had ever seen. "Parson," said Jim, changing the topic, "what's the damage for the sort o' thing ye're drivin' at this mornin'?" "The what?" "The damage--what's the--well--damage? What do ye consider a fa'r price?" "Do you mean the marriage fee?" "Yes, I guess that's what ye call it." "The law allows us two dollars, but you will permit me to perform the ceremony for nothing. It's a labor of love, Mr. Fenton. We are all very much interested in Miss Butterworth, as you see." "Well, I'm a little interested in 'er myself, an' I'm a goin' to pay for the splice. Jest tuck that X into yer jacket, an' tell yer neighbors as ye've seen a man as was five times better nor the law." "You are very generous." "No; I know what business is, though. Ye have to get somethin' to square the buryins an' baptizins with. When a man has a weddin', he'd better pay the whole thing in a jump. Parsons have to live, but how the devil they do it in Sevenoaks is more nor I know." "Mr. Fenton! excuse me!" said Mr. Snow, coloring, "but I am not accustomed to hearing language of that kind." "No, I s'pose not," said Jim, who saw too late that he had made a mistake. "Your sort o' folks knuckle to the devil more nor I do. A good bein' I take to, but a bad bein' I'm careless with; an' I don't make no more o' slingin' his name round nor I do kickin' an old boot." Mr. Snow was obliged to laugh, and half a dozen others, who had gathered about them, joined in a merry chorus. Then Miss Snow came out and whispered to her father, and gave a roguish glance at Jim. At this time the house was full, the little yard was full, and there was a crowd of boys at the gate. Mr. Snow took Jim by the arm and led him in. They pressed through the crowd at the door, Miss Snow making way for them, and so, in a sort of triumphal progress, they went through the room, and disappeared in the apartment where "the little woman," flushed and expectant, waited their arrival. It would be hard to tell which was the more surprised as they were confronted by the meeting. Dress had wrought its miracle upon both of them, and they hardly knew each other.