“The nearest thing is Mr. Meech’s,” he reported on his fourth trip up-stairs; “it’s a white linen string-tie, but he doesn’t want to take it off.”

“Faith, and he’ll have to!” said Sandy, in great agitation.  “Don’t he know that nobody will be looking at him?”

Annette appeared at a bedroom door, a whirl of roses and pink.

“What’s the m-matter?  Ruth will have a f-fit if you wait much longer, and my hair is coming out of curl.”

“Take it off him,” whispered Sandy, recklessly, to Jimmy Reed; and violence was prevented only by the timely arrival of Aunt Melvy with the original wedding tie.

The bridal march had sounded many times, and the impatient guests were becoming seriously concerned, when a handkerchief fluttered from the landing and Sandy and Ruth came down the wide white steps together.

Mr. Meech cleared his throat and, with one hand nervously fidgeting under his coattail, the other thrust into the bosom of his coat, began: 

“We are assembled here to-day to witness the greatest and most time-hallowed institution known to man.”

Sandy heard no more.  The music, the guests, the flowers, even his necktie, faded from his mind.

A sacred hush filled his soul, through which throbbed the vows he was making before God and man.  The little hand upon his arm trembled, and his own closed upon it in instant sympathy and protection.

“In each of the ages gone,” Mr. Meech was saying with increasing eloquence, “man has wooed and won the sweet girl of his choice, and then, with the wreath of fairest orange-blossoms encircling her pure brow, while yet the blush of innocent love crimsoned her cheek, led her away in trembling joy to the hymeneal altar, that their names, their interests, their hearts, might all be made one, just as two rays of light, two drops of dew, sometimes meet, to kiss—­to part no more forever.”

Suddenly a loud shout sounded from the upper hall, followed by sounds like the repeated fall of a heavy body.  Mr. Meech paused, and all eyes were turned in consternation toward the door.  Then through the stillness rang out a hallelujah from above.

“Praise de Lawd, de light’s done come!  De darkness, lak de thunder, done roll away.  I’s saved at last, and my name is done written in de Promised Land!  Amen!  Praise de Lawd!  Amen!”

To part of the company at least the situation was clear.  Aunt Melvy, after seeking religion for nearly sixty years, had chosen this inopportune time to “come th’u’.”

She was with some difficulty removed to the wash-house, where she continued her thanksgiving in undisturbed exultation.

Amid suppressed merriment, the marriage service was concluded, Mr. Meech heroically foregoing his meteoric finale.

Clayton still holds dear the memory of that wedding:  of the beautiful bride and the happy groom, of the great feast that was served indoors and out, and of the good fellowship and good cheer that made it a gala day for the country around.