“A what?” asked three or four ladies in the same breath, and the widow replied,—­“May-be I didn’t get the name right,—­let me see:—­No, come to think, it’s a Charlotte somebody puddin’ instead of a muslin de laine.  And then at t’other end of the table is what I should call a dish of hash, but Judith says it’s ‘chicken Sally,’ and it took the white meat of six or seven chickens to make it.  Now what in the world they’ll ever do with all them legs and backs and things, is more’n I can tell, but, land sake there come some of the puckers.  Is my cap on straight?” she continued, as Mrs. Campbell entered the room, together with Ella, and a number of Boston ladies.

Being assured that her cap was all right, she resumed the conversation by directing the attention of those nearest her to Ella, and saying in a whisper, “If she hain’t faded in a year, then I don’t know; but, poor thing, she’s been disappointed, so it’s no wonder!” and thinking of her own experience with Mr. Parker, the widow’s heart warmed toward the young girl, who, pale and languid, dropped into the nearest seat, while her eyes moved listlessly about the room.  The rich, showy dresses of the city people also, came in for observation, and while the widow marvelled at their taste in wearing “collars as big as capes,” she guessed that Mary’d feel flat in her checkered silk, when she came to see every body so dressed up.

And now guest after guest flitted down the narrow staircase and entered the parlor, which with the bedroom adjoining was soon filled.  Erelong Mr. Selden, who seemed to be master of ceremonies appeared, and whispered something to those nearest the door.  Immediately the crowd fell back, leaving a vacant space in front of the mirror.  The busy hum of voices died away, and only a few suppressed whispers of, “There!—­Look!—­See!—­Oh, my!” were heard, as the bridal party took their places.

The widow, being in the rear, and rather short, slipped off her shoes, and mounted into a chair, for a better view, and when Mary appeared, she was very nearly guilty of an exclamation of surprise, for in place of the “checkered silk” was an elegant moire antique, and an expensive bertha of point lace, while the costly bridal veil, which swept the floor, and fell in soft folds on either side of her head, was confined to the heavy braids of her hair by diamond fastenings.  A diamond necklace encircled her slender throat, and bracelets of the same shone upon her round white arms.  The whole was the gift of George Moreland, who had claimed the privilege of selecting and presenting the bridal dress, and who felt a pardonable pride when he saw how well it became Mary’s graceful and rather queenly form.

At her left stood her bridesmaids, Ida and Jenny, while at George’s right, were Mr. Elwood and William Bender the latter of whom looked on calmly while the solemn words were spoken which gave the idol of his boyhood to another and if he felt a momentary pang when he saw how fondly the newly made husband bent over his young bride, it passed away as his eye fell upon Jenny, who was now dearer to him, if possible, than Mary had ever been.