“When father says he’ll see about anything he means it shall be done,” replied Anne; “let us go and begin packing our frocks!” And so it was decided that we should go to the wedding-party after all! We were in exuberant spirits at our early dinner, for at two o’clock we were to start. John and Tom were fixing the tilt upon the wagon then, and the horses were eating double feeds of corn in preparation for the work that was before them. We had full ten miles to go, and Mr. Preston thought it might be done by six o’clock, when we should have plenty of time to get warmed, and make ourselves grand before tea, at seven. “And I expect you’ll bring us word you’ve each found a beau; you too, Miss Poppy,” said the farmer, addressing me. “I think Cousin Joseph will just suit her,” cried Sophy. “As you lasses always go by the rule of contraries, perhaps he will. He’s as tall as a house-end, and as thin as a whipping-post, Miss Poppy. Do you think you’ll match?” I did not like the allusion to my own brevity of stature, and determined to hate the lanky Joseph on the spot. Dinner was a mere fiction for us that day, and when we were free to quit the table, away we scampered to be swathed up. About Sophy and Anne I cannot undertake to speak; but for myself, I know I could not stir a limb for weight of cloaks, skirts, boots, and comforters, when I was finished off in the hall, and yet I was in a breathless state of eagerness to be in the wagon, and experiencing the delicious sensations of actually setting off. There were, of course, twenty little things to be done at the last—the lanterns to be fitted with fresh candles, the great wooden mallets to be found, to stop the wheels from slipping down hill when the horses had to rest going up, and a bottle of rum-and-water, to be mixed for the refreshment of John and Long Tom on the way. The wagon looked quite pictorial, as I remember it, standing in the slanting, winterly sunshine, with the team of ponderous black horses which no other farmer in the district could match, and the water-proof tilt used to cover the loads of corn when they were carried to the miller at Winton, set upon an arched framework, and closed like curtains, back and front. Inside, the wagon was made comfortable with a mattress and a supply of pillows and blankets, amongst which we were charged to go to sleep as we were returning home in the morning. Sophy was the first to set foot on the step, but her father stopt her. “Let’s have you in dry-shod, at all events—lift them in at the back, John;” and accordingly, like three bundles of hay, we were hoisted under the tilt, received our final messages, cautions, and counsels; after which all was made secure in the rear, to shut out the wind, only a peep-hole being allowed us in front, over the horses’ broad backs. Then wagoner cracked his long whip, uttered a hoarse gee-whoa, and the heavy procession moved slowly off across the home-pastures.