If the reader is another woman, and has spent her spare time for nearly forty years, as I have, in a sort of involuntary study of men, she knows, as well as I do, that there is nothing you can see with the naked eye or put even your gloved finger on that does determine the character of a man. He never breaks his own personal confidence. It is no use to keep either your eye or your finger on him. You will never know him unless he goes to pieces like the one-horse shay, after which it is very unfortunate to know him at all. I am putting this down merely to give you a line on how effervescently Helen came into possession of her house, though it seemed so natural that she should have it, and to warn you that while you think you know what will happen in this story, you do not know, because you do not know George. You do not, even if your own husband is a similar George. CHAPTER IX There is an old copy of the Shannon _Sentinel_, dated October 17, 1902, which contains an account of the Adams-Cutter marriage. It lies folded in the trunk with Helen’s last girlhood hat, and a few other things of that tearful nature. I do not know why women keep these little yellowed and faded tokens of past hopes, unless it is for the same reason they devote themselves cheerfully and industriously to the cultivation of flower gardens on their cemetery lots where their dead lie so deeply buried. The dim type still tells how the altar in this church was decorated with flowers and ferns, who played the wedding march and who performed the ceremony. The bride was the beautiful and accomplished daughter of the late Sam Adams and Mrs. Mary Adams. “Late” is the adjective you get, instead of the plain civilian title of “Mister” you had while you were in the flesh. It depends whether this exchange implies demotion or immortal inflation. But there can be no doubt about the significance of “Sam” in this connection. Mr. Adams was a carpenter, and a good one, but he never received credit in this present world for the concluding, dignifying syllables of his Christian name. In this same paragraph it tells how the bride was dressed, who her attendants were and what they wore. And simmers down in the last sentence to a description of the gowns worn by the respective mothers of the bride and groom. The word “exeunt” does not occur, of course; but that lick-and-a-promise praise of their toilettes really implies that this is the last prominent appearance of these worthy women.