The young couple having been united by the priest, after the ritual of the Roman Catholic Church, the clergyman partook of the spirits and departed for his home. Then the bride was seated at her place in the best room—which was the kitchen—having a small table near, on which stood a steaming pitcher of the blackstrap and a tin pot. In the open fire-place blazed pine knots and light-wood, giving a genial brightness to the place, which was devoid of lamps or candles. A dresser with its array of polished tinware, reflected back the flame and made each corner like open day. By the chimney jamb, on a bit of log, fashioned into a rude stool, sat the aged grandmother of the bride, gray, wrinkled, and trembling in limb, but rigged out in a white ruffled cap, and smoking a brand-new clay pipe. Chairs there were none, excepting that devoted to the queen of the occasion—fair, comely Mrs. Krozenski, with her hair done up in a knot behind her head, combed flat at the sides of the face, and the whole surmounted by a high tortoise-shell comb—who bore her honors gracefully, and was supplied with a dress pocket, capacious enough to contain a small fortune in silver. [Illustration: “_And, before the defenseless man could prevent, she kissed him once, twice, thrice, on the cheek._”] This was the style of her reception: Her male friends, one after another, came in, saluted her kindly, wishing her the usual good luck, calling her by her new name, and each one helped himself to some of the liquor, handing the bride a present—always in the shape of money, and ranging from one dollar to ten dollars, according to the ability or generosity of the donor—then kissed the lady three times. She, nowise disconcerted, placed the cash in her purse, and was ready for the next person. The room was well filled with ladies and gentlemen, the groom, meanwhile, busying himself with out-door affairs. McKenna watched this part of the proceedings for a while with interest, rather liked it, and then walked up, paid his money, enjoyed his small share of the lady’s lips, and stepped back a little to give others a chance. Following him happened to be the young woman from Tamaqua. She tripped gaily to the bride, took her dainty sip of the liquor, tendered a bank-bill, and then, her roguish Irish eye resting upon the detective, she suddenly swooped down upon him, rested one little hand for a second lightly as a snow-flake on his shoulder, and, before the defenseless man could prevent, kissed him once, twice, thrice, on the cheek, then as swift as the wind almost, turned, ran away, and disappeared. The laugh which was raised at the detective’s discomfiture was both long and loud, and he was forced, after he had recovered from the astonishment, to take part in it.