It had been arranged by the two houses that Dick and Olive should be married in the early summer when the college closed; and Mrs. Easterfield had arranged in her own mind that the wedding should be in her city house.  It would not be too late in the season for a stylish wedding—­a thing Mrs. Easterfield had often wished she could arrange, and it was hopeless to think of waiting until her little ones could help her to this desire of her heart.  She held this great secret in reserve, however, for a delightful surprise at the proper time.

But she and Olive both had a wedding surprise before Olive’s visit was finished.  It was, in fact, the day before Olive’s return to the toll-gate that Mr. Easterfield walked in upon them as they were sitting at work in Mrs. Easterfield’s room.  He had been unexpectedly summoned to the city three days before, and had gone with no explanation to his wife.  She did not think much about it, as he was accustomed to going and coming in a somewhat erratic manner.

“It seems to me,” she said, looking at him critically after the first greetings, “that you have an important air.”

“I am the bearer of important news,” he said, puffing out his cheeks.

In answer to the battery of excited inquiries which opened upon him he finally said:  “I was solemnly invited to town to attend a solemn function, and I solemnly went, and am now solemnly returned.”

“Pshaw!” said Mrs. Easterfield.  “I don’t believe it’s anything.”

“A wedding is something.  A very great something.  It is a solemn thing; and made more solemn by the loss of my secretary.”

“What!” almost screamed his wife.  “Mr. Hemphill?”

“The very man.  And, O Miss Olive, if you could but have seen him in his wedding-clothes your heart would have broken to think that you had lost the opportunity of standing by them at the altar.”

“But who was the bride?” asked Mrs. Easterfield impatiently.

“Miss Eliza Grogworthy.”

“Now, Tom, I know you are joking!  Why can’t you be serious?”

“I am as serious as were that couple.  I have known her for some time, and she was very visible.”

“Why, she is old enough to be his mother!”

“Not quite, my dear.  In such a case as this, one must be particular about ages.  She is a few years older than he is probably, but she is not bad looking, and a good woman with a nice big house and lots of money.  He has walked out of my office into a fine position, and I unselfishly congratulated him with all my heart.”

“Poor Mr. Hemphill!” sighed Olive.  She was thinking of the very young man she had sighed for when a very young girl.

“He needs no pity,” said Mr. Easterfield seriously.  “I should not be surprised if he feels glad that he was not—­well, we won’t say what,” he added, looking mischievously at Olive.  “This is really a great deal better thing for him.  He is not a favorite of my wife, but he is a thoroughly good fellow in his way, and I have always liked him.  There were certain things necessary to him in this life, and he has got them.  That can not be said about everybody by a long shot!  No, he is to be congratulated.”