“Let me hang around here till time--won't you?” he asked helplessly. “We must have Ella come back to fix the table.” “Sure. I just didn't want her to hear me tell you that I had cold feet. I'm better now.” Ella moved about the room with soft tread, watching Jim with sullen, concentrated gaze when he was not looking. The lovers sat on the couch beside the window, holding each other's hands and watching in silence the hurrying crowds pass below. Now that his panic was over, Jim began to breathe more freely, and the time swiftly passed. As the shadows slowly fell, they rang the bell at the parson's house beside the church, and his good wife ushered them into the parlor. The little Craddocks crowded in--six of them, two girls and four boys, their ages ranging from five to nineteen. Sweet memories crowded the girl's heart from her happy childhood. She had never missed one of these affairs at home. Her father was a very popular minister and his home the Mecca of lovers for miles around. Craddock, like her father, was inclined to be conservative in his forms. Marriage he held with the old theologians to be a holy sacrament. He never used the new-fangled marriage vows. He stuck to the formula of the Book of Common Prayer. When she stood before the preacher in this beautiful familiar scene which she had witnessed so many times at home, Mary's heart beat with a joy that was positively silly. She tried to be serious, and the dimple would come in her cheek in spite of every effort. As Craddock's musical voice began the opening address, the memory of a foolish incident in her father's life flashed through her mind, and she wondered if Jim in his excitement had forgotten his pocket-book and couldn't pay the preacher. “Dearly beloved,” he began, “we are gathered together here in the sight of God----” Mary tried to remember that she was in the sight of God, but she was so foolishly happy she could only remember that funny scene. A long-legged Kentucky mountain bridegroom at the close of the ceremony had turned to her father and drawled: “Well, parson, I ain't got no money with me--but I want to give ye five dollars. I've got a fine dawg. He's worth ten. I'll send him to ye fur five--if it's all right?” The children had giggled and her father blushed. “Oh, that's all right,” he had answered. “Money's no matter. Forget the five. I hope you'll be very happy.” Two weeks later a crate containing the dog had come by express. On the tag was scrawled: Dear Parson:--I like Nancy so well, I send ye the hole dawg, anyhow. She hadn't a doubt that Jim would feel the same way--but she hoped he hadn't forgotten his pocketbook. The scene had flashed through her mind in a single moment. She had bitten her lips and kept from laughing by a supreme effort. Not a word of the solemn ceremonial, however, had escaped her consciousness.