There stood Mr. Kilbright in his wedding clothes, with the whisk-broom in his hand.

He turned at the sound of my entrance.

“Do you know,” cried the cheery voice of my wife, from just outside the door, “that we have barely fifteen minutes in which to get to the church?”

“Can that be?” cried Mr. Kilbright.  “The time has flown without my knowing it.  We must truly make haste!”

“Indeed we must,” said Mrs. Colesworthy, and as she stepped back from the door, she whispered in my ear:  “Not a look, not a tremble to let him know!”

In less than thirty seconds we were on our way to the church, in the carriage which had been ordered for the purpose.

On the church porch we found old Mr. Scott.  He was dressed in his best clothes, and greeted us cordially.  “In good time,” he said.  “I am glad to see that.  It promises well.”  And then, looking around to see that no one was within hearing, he came nearer to us.  “If I were you,” he continued, “I wouldn’t say nothin’ to folks in general about relationships, for there are people, and very good people, too, whose minds haven’t got on far enough to make ’em able to understand telephones and the other new kinds of wonders.”

We acknowledged the force of his remarks, and all went into the church.

Three days after the departure of Mr. and Mrs. Kilbright on their wedding tour, my wife received a letter from Dr. Hildstein, written by himself from New York, but addressed in the handwriting of Mr. Corbridge.

“I return,” he wrote, “to Germany, perfectly happy in having succeeded in my experiments; but nevermore, esteemed lady, will I dematerialize a subject who has remained long enough in this world to make friends, and I am the only man who can do this thing.”

This letter greatly satisfied us.  “It shows that he has some heart, after all,” said Mrs. Colesworthy, “but as to that man Corbridge, I believe he would have kept poor Mr. Kilbright dancing backward and forward between this world and the other as long as a dollar could be made out of him.  But there is only one way in which he can do us any harm now, and that is by materializing the first Mrs. Kilbright; but, knowing us, as he now does, I don’t believe he will ever try that.”

“No,” said I, “I don’t believe he ever will.”

Should you ever meet with Mr. Amos Kilbright, you need not hesitate to entrust him with any surveying you may have on hand.  Mr. Corbridge cannot dematerialize him, the German scientist will not, and there is no one else in the world who would even think of such a thing.  Therefore, you need feel no fear that he may suddenly vanish from your sight, leaving nothing behind him but his clothes and the contents of his pockets; unless, indeed, he should again be so foolish as to go to swim in the ocean at a point where there is a strong ebb tide.

THE REVERSIBLE LANDSCAPE.