“That was the first place I called, and I said pretty plain what I was gittin’ at; but after I knew about the water-set, that settled what kind of weddin’ we’d have.”

* * * * *

But the next morning the world looked different.  Her rheumatic foot ached, and that always affected her temper; but when they sat down to sew, the real cause of her irascibleness came out.

“Mis’ Lawrence wa’n’t any more civil than she need be,” she remarked.  “I guess she’d decided she’d got to do something, being related to Joe.  She said she supposed you were expecting a good many presents; and I said no, you didn’t look for many, and there were some that you’d done a good deal for that you knew better than to expect anything from.  I was mad.  Then she turned kind of red, and mentioned about the water-set.”

And in the afternoon a young girl acquaintance added to Esther’s perturbation.  “I just met Susan Rogers,” she confided to the other, “and she said they hated to give that lamp, but they supposed they were in for it.”

Esther was not herself for some days.  All her pretty dreams were blotted out, and a morbid embarrassment took hold of her; but she was roused to something like her old interest when the presents began to come in and she saw her mother’s active preparations for the wedding—­the more so as over the village seemed to have spread a pleasant excitement concerning the event.  Presents arrived from unexpected sources, so that invitations had to be sent afterwards to the givers.  Women who had never crossed the Robinson threshold came now like Hindoo gift-bearers before some deity whom they wished to propitiate.  Meeting there, they exchanged droll, half-deprecating glances.  Mrs. Robinson’s calls had formed the subject of much laughing comment; but weddings were not common in Marshfield, and the desire to be bidden to this one was universal; it spread like an epidemic.

Mrs. Robinson was at first elated.  She overlooked the matter of duplicates, and accepted graciously every article that was tendered—­from a patch-work quilt to a hem-stitched handkerchief.  “You can’t have too many of some things,” she remarked to Esther.  But later she reversed this statement.  Match-safes, photograph-frames, and pretty nothings accumulated to an alarming extent.

“Now that’s the last pin-cushion you’re goin’ to take,” she declared, as she returned from answering a call at the door one evening.  “There’s fourteen in the parlor now.  Some folks seem to have gone crazy on pin-cushions.”

She grew confused, and the next day she went into the parlor, which, owing to the nature of the display, resembled a booth at a church fair, and made an accurate list of the articles received.  When she emerged, her large, handsome face was quite flushed.

“Little wabbly, fall-down things, most of ’em.  It’ll take you a week to dust your house if you have all those things standin’ round.”