It dawned quite suddenly on the Honorable Alexander Hamilton Burrow that the party was quite complete. Bride, groom, best man, minister, witness and—how should he classify Mr. Connors? He swept a comprehensive glance about—but there was no Mr. Connors. Mr. Connors had vanished into the night as suddenly as he had arisen out of the night. He had played his part and passed. In point of fact, Mr. Connors was looking on from the shadow of a not-too-distant sycamore. Sitting at the foot of this sycamore he drew from one pocket the gold timepiece that had formerly reposed in the pocket of Mr. Lewis Copewell. Then he abstracted from another pocket the watch that had been, until a short time ago, worn by the Honorable Alexander Hamilton Burrow. Then he affectionately patted the rolls of greenbacks in his breast pocket. “Oh, dat ain’t so bad!” he optimistically told himself. For a moment there was silence on the railroad track. Then Mr. Copewell, feeling quite assured that the vision was genuine, managed to say, “_Mary!_” Miss Asheton said, “_Lewis!_” The Honorable Alexander Hamilton Burrow, thinking of nothing witty or timely to say, touched the minister on the arm and began feeling in his pockets for the marriage license. [Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in the September 1911 issue of Adventure magazine.]