"Dunno nothin' 'bout dat, but he looks into de stars straight through a shiny pipe, Miss Em'ly, dat he sticks up on tree leg; an' when dem peart fellers In dat college where dey lives, gits into figgerin whar dey's done stuck and can't do it no how, dey comes right down to dat man, an' he trabbles 'em right out ob all dese yere diffikilties. Um, um! dat man knows a heap ob dem tings. Miss Hungerford's all right. 'Pears like dere's good deal ob marryin' roun' de diggins." "You set the example," I said, "and the rest must follow. Louis and I expect your hearty congratulations when our day comes to step out of the world." "You kin 'pend on good arnest wishes for a heap o' comfort, Miss Em'ly, but 'stead o' leavin' the world you jes' gits into it; dunno nothin' 'bout livin' till ye hev to min' eberything yourself. But I 'spect you'll walk along purty happy-like, fur Mas'r Louis he's done got hevin right in his soul, an' you, Miss Em'ly, 'pears like you's good enough fur him." And the old man stood before me like a picture, his eyes beaming with the thoughts which filled his soul, utterance to which he could not wholly give; and I thought they grew like a fire within him, and that some day, beyond the pale of human life, they would speak with force and power, and all the buds of beauty there burst into flowers of eternal loveliness. And I said to him, as he rose to go: "Your good wishes are worth much to me; I want you always for my faithful friend." "Dat's jes' what I'se gwine to be," he replied, and as he passed along the path, I thought I saw the corner of his coat sleeve near his eye. The 24th of June was a royal day. The blue sky flecked with fleecy clouds sailing over us like promises; the air sweet with the mingling breath of flowers (we had multitudes of them about us). The south wind came up to us as pleasant breaths that sought our own, and the robins and blue-birds sang in the trees all day the song, "It is well." My heart echoed their music, and I moved in a dream, and when I felt Clara's fingers wandering over my hair I could not realize that her noble Louis was waiting to claim me as his wife--plain Emily Minot. But the blue-birds' "It is well" covered all these thoughts. "Just a white dress, Emily, and violets to fasten your hair," said Clara, "which I will coax to curl for this one day." And so, from under her hands, I came in a simple toilette of white mull, with my much-loved violets fastened at my throat and nestling among my black hair. Not a jewel save the ring that Louis had given me in the days before, and the chain, which was just one shining thread about my throat. I must have looked happy, but more than this I could not see, even though I hazarded a long, full look in Clara's mirror.