“Not even Laura?”

“Oh, yes!  Laura.”

“Not even Polly?”

“Oh, yes! the household.”

And then he said, softly, that, if I wanted to please him,—­and he knew his darling Del did,—­I would dress in a white gown of some sort, and put a tea-rose in my beautiful dark hair, and have nobody by but just the family and old Mr. Price, the Boynton minister.

“I know that isn’t what you thought of, exactly.  You thought of being married in church”——­

“Oh, dear, dear! old Mr. Price!”—­but I did not speak.

“But if you would be willing?”——­

“I supposed it would be more convenient,” I muttered.

Visions of myself walking up the aisle, with a white silk on, tulle veil, orange-flowers, of course, (so becoming!) house crowded with friends, collation, walking under the trees,—­all faded off with a mournful cry.

It was of no use talking.  Whatever he thought best, I should do, if it were to be married by the headsman, supposing there were such a person.  This was all settled, then, and had been for a week.

Nobody need say that lovers, or even married lovers, have but one mind.  They have two minds always.  And that is sometimes the best of it; since the perpetual sacrifices made to each other are made no sacrifices, but sweet triumphs, by their love.  Still, just as much as green is composed of yellow and blue, and purple of red and blue, the rays can any time be separated, and they always have a conscious life of their own.  Of course, I had a sort of pleasure even in giving up my marriage in church; but I kept my blue rays, for all that,—­and told Laura I dreaded the long, long prayer in that evening’s service, and that I hoped in mercy old Mr. Price would have his wits about him, and not preach a funeral discourse.

“Old Mr. Price is eighty-nine years old, Laura says,” said I.

“Yes.  He was the minister who married my father and mother, and has always been our minister,” answered my lover.

And so it was settled.

Laura was rolling up tape, Monday morning, as quietly as if there were to be no wedding.  For my part, I wandered up and down, and could not set myself about anything.

“Old Mr. Price! and a great long prayer!  And that is to be the end of it!  My wedding-dress all made, and not to be worn!  Flowers ditto!  Nowhere to go, and so I shall stay at home.  He has no house; so Taffy is to come to mine!”

And here I burst out laughing; for it was as well to laugh as cry; and besides, I said a great many things on purpose to have Laura say what she always did,—­and which, after all, it was sweet to me to hear.  Those were silly days!

“No, Del,—­that is not the end of it,—­only the beginning of it,—­of a happy, useful, good life,—­your path growing brighter and broader every year,—­and—­and—­we won’t talk of the garlands, dear; but your heart will have bridal-blossoms, whether your head has or not.”