Perhaps, gentle reader (all readers are supposed to be "gentle,"--they _ought_ to be), if you live in a retired village, you will find that in the course of many years, your village annals present little or nothing worthy of record, as matter of general interest or importance; you will, therefore, understand how that the past six years at the little village of St. Catherine's have been so uneventful as to be noticed only by a blank in our narrative. But now, on this twenty-sixth day of June, in the year 1866, an event of no common interest in a country parish is about to take place. Since their first meeting, four years ago, at the vicarage of Droneworth, a close intimacy had grown up between the families of Mr. Acres and his neighbour Sir John Adamley; the upright integrity and manly candour which marked both their characters soon begat a deep mutual respect, which, in course of time, ripened into a warm friendship, now about to be sealed in the marriage of the Baronet's eldest son Egbert with Mr. Acres' eldest daughter Constance. The place is all astir betimes. Early in the morning a merry peal is sounding from the old church tower, and many hands are busy in decorating with flowers and evergreens arches placed at intervals between the church and the Hall. It is by no order of the Squire or his steward that these arches--erected at no slight cost of money and labour--are put up; they are the spontaneous expression of the interest which the villagers themselves take in the day's rejoicing. There are William Hardy, Robert Atkinson, Mr. Dole, even old Matthew and his grandson, and indeed half the village, as busy as bees in and out of the church, vying with each other in their endeavour to make every thing look bright and joyful. Every one has put on something gay and cheerful, purchased specially for the occasion; there is the light of honest gladness on every face; and now that the children with their baskets of fresh flowers stand ranged on either side of the pathway that leads from the main road to the lich-gate, the scene is one of the most picturesque that can be imagined.... "Does Mr. Ambrose particularly wish that the first part of the service should take place near the _chancel screen_?" inquires Sir John. "Yes," answers the Squire; "it is always the custom here, and I think you will afterwards acknowledge that this arrangement is very fitting and appropriate; and, indeed, adds not a little to the impressiveness of the ceremony." "I can quite imagine that; but what authority has the Vicar for the practice?"