"What's the matter?"

"Quick, Kiddo--quick!"

Mary let Ella out from the little private hall without her seeing Jim, and returned.

"For heaven's sake, man, what ails you?" she asked excitedly.

"Say--I forgot that thing already. We got to go over it again. What if I miss it?"

"The ceremony?"

"Yep----"

He mopped his brow and looked at his watch.

"By the time we get to that preacher's house, I won't know my first name if you don't help me."

Mary laughed softly and kissed him.

"You can't miss it. All you've got to do is say, 'I will' when he asks you the question, put the ring on my finger when he tells you, and repeat the words after him--he and I will do the rest."

"Say my question over again."

"'Wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife, to live together after God's ordinance, in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honor, and keep her in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?'"

She looked at him and laughed.

"Why don't you answer?"

"Now?"

"Yes--that's the end of the question. Say, 'I will.'"

"Oh, I will all right! What scares me is that I'll jump in on him and say 'I will' before he gets halfway through. Seems to me when he says, 'Wilt thou have this woman to be thy wedded wife?' I'll just have to choke myself there to keep from saying, 'You bet your life I will, Parson!'"

"It won't hurt anything if you say, 'I will' several times," she assured him.

"It wouldn't queer the job?"

"Not in the least. I've often heard them say, 'I will' two or three times. Wait until you hear the words, 'so long as ye both shall live----'"

"'So long as ye both shall live,'" he repeated solemnly.

"The other speech you say after the minister."

"He won't bite off more than I can chew at one time, will he?"

"No, silly--just a few words----"

"Because if he does, I'll choke."

Jim drew his watch again, mopped his brow, and gazed at Mary's serene face with wonder.

"Say, Kiddo, you're immense--you're as cool as a cucumber!"

"Of course. Why not? It's my day of joy and perfect peace--the day I've dreamed of since the dawn of maidenhood. I'm marrying the man of my choice--the one man God made for me of all men on earth. I know this--I'm content."

"Let me hang around here till time--won't you?" he asked helplessly.

"We must have Ella come back to fix the table."

"Sure. I just didn't want her to hear me tell you that I had cold feet.

I'm better now."

Ella moved about the room with soft tread, watching Jim with sullen, concentrated gaze when he was not looking.

The lovers sat on the couch beside the window, holding each other's hands and watching in silence the hurrying crowds pass below. Now that his panic was over, Jim began to breathe more freely, and the time swiftly passed.

As the shadows slowly fell, they rang the bell at the parson's house beside the church, and his good wife ushered them into the parlor. The little Craddocks crowded in--six of them, two girls and four boys, their ages ranging from five to nineteen.

Sweet memories crowded the girl's heart from her happy childhood. She had never missed one of these affairs at home. Her father was a very popular minister and his home the Mecca of lovers for miles around.

Craddock, like her father, was inclined to be conservative in his forms.

Marriage he held with the old theologians to be a holy sacrament. He never used the new-fangled marriage vows. He stuck to the formula of the Book of Common Prayer.

When she stood before the preacher in this beautiful familiar scene which she had witnessed so many times at home, Mary's heart beat with a joy that was positively silly. She tried to be serious, and the dimple would come in her cheek in spite of every effort.

As Craddock's musical voice began the opening address, the memory of a foolish incident in her father's life flashed through her mind, and she wondered if Jim in his excitement had forgotten his pocket-book and couldn't pay the preacher.

"Dearly beloved," he began, "we are gathered together here in the sight of God----"

Mary tried to remember that she was in the sight of God, but she was so foolishly happy she could only remember that funny scene. A long-legged Kentucky mountain bridegroom at the close of the ceremony had turned to her father and drawled:

"Well, parson, I ain't got no money with me--but I want to give ye five dollars. I've got a fine dawg. He's worth ten. I'll send him to ye fur five--if it's all right?"

The children had giggled and her father blushed.

"Oh, that's all right," he had answered. "Money's no matter. Forget the five. I hope you'll be very happy."

Two weeks later a crate containing the dog had come by express. On the tag was scrawled:

Dear Parson:--I like Nancy so well, I send ye the hole dawg, anyhow.

She hadn't a doubt that Jim would feel the same way--but she hoped he hadn't forgotten his pocketbook.

The scene had flashed through her mind in a single moment. She had bitten her lips and kept from laughing by a supreme effort. Not a word of the solemn ceremonial, however, had escaped her consciousness.