The house was soon filled with guests—­or rather appeared to be filled, for the whole number invited and present was only forty.  But forty people, moving about uneasily, and expecting something, look like a hundred or more.  Among them were many whose only claim to an invitation was their friendship for the host, or Mrs. Crull, or the bride, and not any mental, moral, or physical excellence which entitles them to mention in this history.

There were two rooms on the second floor, upon which the interest of loungers, male and female, was concentrated.

In one waited the bridegroom, his groomsmen Overtop and Maltboy, Marcus Wilkeson and Wesley Tiffles.  They were a happy party, and not at all frightened at the approaching nuptials.  Bog—­for such his friends always did, should, and will call him—­could not have been happier—­far from it!—­if he had held a sceptre in each hand.  Overtop was happy in the contemplation of his marriage with that most sensible of girls, Miss Pillbody, which was set down for the week following.  The affair would have come off six months before, but for Miss Pillbody’s illness, happening soon after her mother’s death.  In consequence of this illness, her select school had been given up—­never to be revived.  Poor Overtop did not know how much he loved her, until he saw how near he came to losing her.  She had completely recovered, was ruddy and pretty with new health, and was Pet’s first bridesmaid.  Overtop thought pleasantly of her, and combed back his intractable cowlick.  Matthew Maltboy was happy because he had taken a serious fancy to Miss Trapper, the second bridesmaid, a charming but peculiar girl, and the particular juvenile friend of Mrs. Frump.  Matthew had met this young lady two or three times, and had suffered sweetly from her black eyes.  Marcus Wilkeson was happy in his contented bachelorhood, in the happiness of his niece and of all around him, and in the clearing up of the “Minford enigma.”  Wesley Tiffles was happy because happiness was his constitutional disposition, under all circumstances and in all weathers.  The arrival of Uncle Ith was the only event that had drawn this good-natured party from their retreat; and those who watched for their reappearance were disappointed.

In the other room, the bride had been dressing for several hours, and was still hard at it, under the immediate supervision of the indefatigable Mrs. Crull, Mrs. Frump, and the two bridesmaids.  Only the favored few were admitted to this retreat of mysteries.  But they were kindly communicative.  They brought back minute reports of the appearance and condition of the bride elect, in the various stages of her enrobement and ornamentation; and there was not a woman in the house who did not, every ten minutes, have the image of Helen Wilkeson stamped on her mind as accurately as the changeful phases of an eclipse on the photographer’s plate.

* * * * *

At the soft, calm, mystic, love-making, marrying twilight hour, the bridal party took their stand near the southern end of the great double parlor.  The forty guests were grouped before them, an audience without seats.