A few more guests arrived, mostly of the ancient order, and a little too much of one sort to please a lover of variety.  The advent of Mr. Frump, with all his impulsive occidental peculiarities of character fresh upon him, was a decided relief to the decorous company already assembled in the parlors.  In less than ten minutes, he was on terms of off-hand friendship with everybody, and was telling strange stories of Western adventure to a group of eager listeners.

Old Van Quintem received all his guests with that simple cordiality which leaves no doubt of a sincere welcome.  The common remark was, “How well you are looking, Mr. Van Quintem!” And it was very true.  Few men at seventy could show a figure so straight, cheeks so smooth, and an eye so bright.  The unavailing sorrow which tenanted his heart two years before, had gradually disappeared.  From the hour that his son fled abashed from his presence, he had not seen or heard of him, and had at last come to regard him as dead—­though the old gentleman could not have given a good reason for that singular belief, except that his son had been a constant cause of sorrow and trouble to him when alive.  He preferred to think of the lost son not as the ripened villain, but as the innocent child prattling upon its mother’s knee.  This mental picture filled a select chamber of the old man’s memory.  But the affection and reverential duty of a son had been supplied by the boy Bog; and, in the virtuous character and filial love of that young man, he saw what the innocent child might have grown to, had all his prayers and tears been answered.

When old Van Quintem’s wishes were consulted with regard to the wedding, he had but one favor to ask; and that was, that the ceremony might take place at his house.  It was a whimsical idea, he said, but he would like to see his old home gay once more, as it used to be years ago.  “Besides,” said he, “I am rheumatic, and might not be able to attend the wedding, if held elsewhere.”

Mrs. Crull, when she first heard, from the lips of the blushing Pet, that Bog had proposed and been accepted, immediately outlined the plan of a wedding at her house, which should be something unprecedented in point of magnificence.  The plan took shape as she thought of it, and she had already settled upon the number of invitations, and the other principal arrangements, when old Van Quintem’s wish was mentioned to her.  The sacrifice was a great one; and Mrs. Crull would make it only on condition that she should superintend the preparations with the same freedom as at her own house.  Old Van Quintem consented to this, only stipulating that he should pay all the bills; and, for over a week before the wedding, Mrs. Crull, assisted by that most buxom and busy of women, Mrs. Frump, had taken tyrannical possession of the dwelling, and made such extraordinary transpositions of the carpets and pictures, and other movable property, that old Van Quintem, on surveying the work of renovation, hardly recognized the house as his own.  The only apartment that was not inwardly transformed by these female magicians was the library.  To that he clung, conscious that both his services and his advice were of no value.