Then they were all marshalled on their way to church.  It is quite out of my power to describe the bride’s dress, or that of the bride’s maids.  They were the bride’s sisters and two of Joe’s sisters.  An attempt had been made to induce Florence Mountjoy to come down, but it had been unsuccessful.  Things had gone so far now at Cheltenham that Mrs. Mountjoy had been driven to acknowledge that if Florence held to her project for three years she should be allowed to marry Harry Annesley.  But she had accompanied this permission by many absurd restrictions.  Florence was not to see him, at any rate, during the first year; but she was to see Mountjoy Scarborough if he came to Cheltenham.  Florence declared this to be impossible; but, as the Buston marriage took place just at this moment, she could not have her way in everything.  Joe drove up to the church with Algy Soames, it not having been thought discreet that he should enter the parsonage on that morning, though he had been there nearly every day through the winter.  “I declare, here he is!” said Miss Thoroughbung, very loudly.  “I never thought he’d have the courage at the last moment.”

“I wonder how a certain gentleman would have felt when it came to his last moment,” said Mr. Crabtree.

Mrs. Annesley took to weeping bitterly, which seemed to be unnecessary, as she had done nothing but congratulate herself since the match had first been made, and had rejoiced greatly that one of her numerous brood should have “put into such a haven of rest.”

“My dear Mrs. Annesley,” said Mrs. Crabtree, consoling her in that she would not be far removed from her child, “you can almost see the brewery chimneys from the church tower.”  Those who knew the two ladies well were aware that there was some little slur intended by the allusion to brewery chimneys.  Mrs. Crabtree’s girl had married the third son of Sir Reginald Rattlepate.  The Rattlepates were not rich, and the third son was not inclined to earn his bread.

“Thank God, yes!” said Mrs. Annesley, through her tears.  “Whenever I shall see them I shall know that there’s an income coming out with the smoke.”

The boys were home from school for the occasion.  “Molly, there’s Joe coming after you,” said the elder.

“If he gives you a kiss now you needn’t pretend to mind,” said the other.

“My darling, my own one, that so soon will be my own no longer!” said the father, as he made his way into the vestry to put on his surplice.

“Dear papa!” It was the only word the bride said as she walked in at the church-door, and prepared to make her way up the nave at the head of her little bevy.  They were all very bright, as they stood there before the altar, but the brightest spot among them was Algy Soames’s blue necktie.  Joe for the moment was much depressed, and thought nothing of the last run in which he had distinguished himself; but nevertheless he held up his head well as a man and a brewer.