Kate drank the water, with the glass jingling against her teeth, and then began to laugh. The parson's ruddy face rose at the end of the table. “Friends,” he said, “after that tragic story, let us indulge in a little vanity. Fill up your glasses to the brim, and drink with me to the health of the happy couple. We all know both of them. We know the bride for a good daughter and a sweet girl--one so naturally pure that nobody can ever say an evil word or think an evil thought when she is near. We know the bridegroom for a real Manxman, simple and rugged and true, who says all he thinks and thinks all he says. God has been very good to them. Such virginal and transparent souls have much to be thankful for. It is not for them to struggle with that worst enemy of man, the enemy that is within, the enemy of bad passions. So we can wish them joy on their union with a full heart and a sure hope that, whatever chance befall them on the ways of this world, they will be happy and content.” “Aw, the beautiful advice,” said Grannie, wiping her eyes. “Popery, just Popery,” muttered Cæsar. “What about original sin?” There was a chorus of applause. Kate was still laughing. Philip's head was down. “And now, friends,” continued the parson, “Captain Quilliam has been a successful man abroad, but he has had to come home to do the best piece of work he ever did.” (A voice--“Do it yourself, parzon.”) “It is true I've never done it myself. Vanity of vanities, love is not for me. It's been the Lord's will to put me here to do the marrying and leave my people to do the loving. But there is a young man present who has all the world before him and everything this life can promise except one thing, and that's the best thing of all--a wife.” (Kate's laughter grew boisterous.) “This morning he helped his friend to marry a pure and beautiful maiden. Now let me remind him of the text which says, 'Go thou and do likewise.'” The toast was drunk standing, with shouts of “Cap'n Pete,” and, amid much hammering on the table, stamping on the floor, and other thunderings of applause, Cap'n Pete rolled up to reply. After a moment's pause, in which he distributed sage winks and nods on every side, he said: “I'm not much for public spaking myself. I made my best speech and my shortest in church this morning--_I will_. The parzon has has been telling my _dooiney molla_ to do as I have done today. He can't. Begging pardon of the ladies, there's only one woman on the island fit for him, and I've got her.” (Kate's laughter grew shrill.) “My wife----” At this word, uttered with an air of life-long familiarity, twenty clay pipes lost their heads by collision with the table, and Pete was interrupted by roars of laughter. “Gough bless me, can't a married man mention his wife in company? Well then. Mistress Cap'n Peter Quilliam----” This mouthful was the signal for another riotous interruption, and a general call for more to drink.