Mr. Snow greeted him cordially, and introduced him to those who stood near.

“Well, parson, where’s the little woman?” he said, at last, in a voice so loud that all heard the startling question.  Miss Butterworth heard him, and laughed.

“Just hear him!” she exclaimed to the busy girl, whose work was now hurrying to a close.  “If he doesn’t astonish them before he gets through, I shall be mistaken.  I do think it’s the most ridiculous thing.  Now isn’t it!  The idea!”

Miss Snow, in the general character of outside manager and future companion of the bride, hurried to Jim’s side at once, and said: 

“Oh, Mr. Fenton!”

“Jest call me Jim.”

“No, no, I won’t.  Now, Mr. Fenton, really! you can’t see her until she is ready!”

“Oh can’t I!” and Jim smiled.

Miss Snow had the impression, prevalent among women, that a bridegroom has no rights so long as they can keep him out of them, and that it is their privilege to fight him up to the last moment.

“Now, really, Mr. Fenton, you must be patient,” she said, in a whisper.  “She is quite delicate this morning, and she’s going to look so pretty that you’ll hardly know her.”

“Well,” said Jim, “if you’ve got a ticket into the place whar she’s stoppin’, tell her that kingdom-come is here an’ waitin’.”

A ripple of laughter went around the circle, and Jim, finding the room getting a little close, beckoned Mr. Snow out of the doors.  Taking him aside and removing his hat, he said: 

“Parson, do you see my har?”

“I do,” responded the minister, good-naturedly.

“That riz last night,” said Jim, solemnly.

“Is it possible?” and Mr. Snow looked at the intractable pile with genuine concern.

“Yes, riz in a dream.  I thought I’d shot ‘er.  I was follerin’ ’er all night.  Sometimes she was one thing, an’ sometimes she was another, but I drew a bead on ‘er, an’ down she went, an’ up come my har quicker nor lightnin’.  I don’t s’pose it looks very purty, but I can’t help it.”

“Have you tried anything on it?” inquired Mr. Snow with a puzzled look.

“Yis, everything but a hot flat iron, an’ I’m a little afraid o’ that.  If wust comes to wust, it’ll have to be did, though.  It may warm up my old brains a little, but if my har is well sprinkled, and the thing is handled lively, it’ll pay for tryin’.”

The perfect candor and coolness of Jim’s manner were too much for the unsuspicious spirit of the minister, who thought it all very strange.  He had heard of such things, but this was the first instance he had ever seen.

“Parson,” said Jim, changing the topic, “what’s the damage for the sort o’ thing ye’re drivin’ at this mornin’?”

“The what?”

“The damage—­what’s the—­well—­damage?  What do ye consider a fa’r price?”

“Do you mean the marriage fee?”

“Yes, I guess that’s what ye call it.”