Now it never entered my mind that grandma meant me, when she said, “You children,” because—well, because, you know, I am thirteen, and there are three at home, younger than I, and I’m used to being trusted. So I said, “Never mind, Sallie, I’ll let you look at them; but you must look fast, for it is almost time for the wedding.” So, in we went. And Sallie, who is the most beauty-loving little creature of eight, whom I ever saw, seemed to have eyes only for that lovely glass dish, which she had never seen before. She clasped her hands together with an eager little “Oh!” and ran towards it. I don’t suppose she would have touched it, but I was excited, and so afraid she would, that I ran after her, calling out, “Don’t touch anything!” and put out my hand to prevent it. And then, I don’t know how it happened—does anybody know how such accidents happen? The lace from my sleeve caught in one of the points of the glass, or in one of the stems of flowers, or somehow,—I don’t suppose I could do it again if I tried,—but over that glass went, the water pouring itself out in the most disgusting way, on the damask cloth, and a long crooked piece snapped from the upper edge of the dish! O, dear! Don’t ask me how I felt. I couldn’t describe it, even though I were sitting on the dear old bed at No. 7, with half a dozen of you beside me, and the rest cuddled around close at hand. There wasn’t any time to do anything. I heard them calling, at that moment, for I was one of the bridesmaids. I just had to force back my tears and my fright, and run and take my place in the procession. We all got through it somehow. I hope aunt Kate heard what the minister said; I didn’t; but it is safe to say that she was not thinking of what I was. Immediately after the ceremony, we went to the dining-room, and then the awful accident was discovered. I don’t know which I was the most sorry for, grandma or myself. I didn’t mean to tell about it then, because I thought it wouldn’t be the proper time; and then, of course, it would be dreadful to have to speak before them at all. But what should grandma do, after we were all seated, and the eating had begun, but lean over to aunt Kate and say in a low tone: “That is some of Jill’s work; if I don’t get rid of a cat who can open doors, before I am a day older, it will be because I am not smart enough.” Now, Jill is the cutest cat that was ever born, I do believe; there isn’t a door in grandma’s house that she cannot manage to open almost as well as though she had hands. I never thought of her blaming the cat; and now the story came out, just as they guessed it had happened, and all the people at our end of the table talked it over.