Among the first to congratulate “Mrs. Moreland,” was Sally Furbush, followed by Mrs. Perkins, who whispered to George that “she kinder had a notion how ’twoud end when she first saw him in the school-house; but I’m glad you’ve got him,” turning to Mary, “for it must be easier livin’ in the city than keepin’ school.  You’ll have a hired girl, I s’pose?”

When supper was announced, the widow made herself very useful in waiting upon the table, and asking some of the Boston ladies “if they’d be helped to any thing in them dishes,” pointing to the finger glasses, which now for the first time appeared in Rice Corner!  The half suppressed mirth of the ladies convinced the widow that she’d made a blunder, and perfectly disgusted with “new-fangled fashions” she retreated into the kitchen, were she found things more to her taste, and “thanked her stars, she could, if she liked, eat with her fingers, and wipe them on her pocket handkerchief!”

Soon after her engagement, Mary had asked that Sally should go with her to her city home.  To this George willingly consented, and it was decided that she should remain with Mrs. Mason until the bridal party returned from the western tour they were intending to take.  Sally knew nothing of this arrangement until the morning following the wedding, when she was told that she was not to return to the poor-house again.

“And verily, I have this day met with a great deliverance,” said she, and tears, the first shed in many a year mingled with the old creature’s thanks for this unexpected happiness.  As Mary was leaving, she whispered in her ear “If your travels lead you near Willie’s grave, drop a tear on it for my sake.  You’ll find it under the buckeye tree, where the tall grass and wild flowers grow.”

George had relatives in Chicago, and after spending a short time in that city, Mary, remembering Sally’s request, expressed a desire to visit the spot renowned as the burial place of “Willie and Willie’s father.”  Ever ready to gratify her slightest wish, George consented, and towards the close of a mild autumnal day, they stopped at a small public house on the border of a vast prairie.  The arrival of so distinguished looking people caused quite a commotion, and after duly inspecting Mary’s handsome travelling dress, and calculating its probable cost, the hostess departed to prepare the evening meal, which was soon forthcoming.

When supper was over, and the family had gathered into the pleasant sitting room, George asked if there was ever a man in those parts by the name of “Furbush.”

“What!  Bill Furbush?” asked the landlord.

George did not know, but thought likely that might have seen his name, as his son was called William.

“Lud, yes,” returned the landlord.  “I knowed Bill Furbush well,—­he came here about the same time I did, he from Massachusetts, and I from Varmount; but, poor feller, he was too weakly to bear much, and the first fever he took finished him up.  His old woman was as clever a creature as ever was, but she had some high notions.”