“I wouldn’t; I wanted to be primitive and do it all ourselves; I knew Morris would be grand help, but I was not so sure of you.”

“Are you sure of me, now?” he laughed, like the old Hollis who used to go to school.

After that Marjorie would not have been surprised if he had called her “Mousie.”

“Morris, what do you want to be a sailor for?” inquired Hollis, arranging the white rose in his button-hole anew.

“To sail,” answered Morris seriously.  “What do you want to be a salesman for?”

“To sell,” said Hollis, as seriously, “Marjorie, what do you want to be yourself for?”

“To help you to be yourself,” she answered promptly, and flew to the front door where there was a sound of shouting and laughter.  They were all there, every one of the little home-made company; and the waiters ushered them into the kitchen, where the feast was spread, with great ceremony.

If Linnet had not been somebody’s wife she would have danced around and clapped her hands with delight; as it was she nearly forgot her dignity, and exclaimed with surprise and pleasure sufficient to satisfy those who were in the secret of the feast.

Linnet was in her gray travelling suit, but the dash of crimson this time was in both cheeks; there was a haziness in her eyes that subdued the brightness of her face and touched them all.  The bridegroom was handsome and proud, his own merry self, not a trifle abashed before them all on his wedding day, everything that he said seemed to be thought worth laughing at, and there was not a shadow on any face, except the flitting of a shadow ever and anon across Morris Kemlo’s blue eyes.

The feast was ended, prayer offered by the pastor and the new home dedicated to him who is the Father in every home where his children dwell, and then kisses and congratulations and thanks mingled with the tears that the mothers must need shed out of their joy and natural regret.  The mothers were both exultantly proud and sure that her child would not be the one to make the other unhappy.  The carriages rolled away, Will and Linnet to take the train to Portland, for if the wind were fair the Linnet would sail the next day for New York and thence to Genoa.  Linnet had promised to bring Marjorie some of the plastering of the chamber in which Christopher Columbus was born, and if they went down to Naples she would surely climb Mt.  Vesuvius and bring her a branch of mulberry.

The mothers remained to wash the dishes and pack things away, to lock up the house, and brush the last flake of dust from any of Linnet’s new possessions; Captain Rheid called to Hollis and asked him to walk over the farm with him and see where everything was planted.  Hollis was to remain over night, but Morris was to take a late train to join the Linnet’s crew, it being his first voyage as second mate.

The mothers took off their kitchen aprons, washed their hands at Linnet’s new sink, and gave Morris the key of the front door to hang up in an out-of-the-way corner of the wood shed.