Miss Snow took Jim by the button-hole: 

“Mr. Fenton, you must take Miss Butterworth on your arm, you know, and lead her in front of the sofa, and turn around, and face father, and then do just what he tells you, and remember that there’s nothing for you to say.”

The truth was, that they were all afraid that Jim would not be able to hold his tongue.

“Are we all ready?” inquired Mr. Snow, in a pleasant, official tone.

All were ready, and then Mr. Snow, going out with a book in his hand, was followed by Jim and his bride, the little procession being completed by the three Misses Snow, who, with a great deal of care upon their faces, slipped out of the door, one after another, like three white doves from a window.  Mr. Snow took his position, the pair wheeled and faced him, and the three Misses Snow supported Miss Butterworth as impromptu bridesmaids.  It was an impressive tableau, and when the good pastor said:  “Let us pray,” and raised his thin, white hands, a painter in search of a subject could have asked for nothing better.

When, at the close of his prayer, the pastor inquired if there were any known obstacles to the union of the pair before him in the bonds of holy matrimony, and bade all objectors to speak then, or forever after hold their peace, Jim looked around with a defiant air, as if he would like to see the man who dared to respond to the call.  No one did respond, and the ceremony proceeded.

“James,” said Mr. Snow.

“Jest call me—­”

Miss Butterworth pinched Jim’s arm, and he recalled Miss Snow’s injunction in time to arrest his sentence in midpassage.

“James,” the pastor repeated, and then went on to ask him, in accordance with the simple form of his sect, whether he took the woman whom he was holding by the hand to be his lawful and wedded wife, to be loved and cherished in sickness and health, in prosperity and adversity, cleaving to her, and to her only.

“Parson,” said Jim, “that’s jest what I’m here for.”

There would have been a titter if any other man had said it, but it was so strong and earnest, and so much in character, that hardly a smile crossed a face that fronted him.

Then “Keziah” was questioned in the usual form, and bowed her response, and Jim and the little woman were declared to be one.  “What God hath joined together, let not man put asunder.”

And then Mr. Snow raised his white hands again, and pronounced a formal benediction.  There was a moment of awkwardness, but soon the pastor advanced with his congratulations, and Mrs. Snow came up, and the three Misses Snow, and the Balfours, and the neighbors; and there were kisses and hand-shakings, and good wishes.  Jim beamed around upon the fluttering and chattering groups like a great, good-natured mastiff upon a playful collection of silken spaniels and smart terriers.  It was the proudest moment of his life.  Even when standing on the cupola of his hotel, surveying his achievements, and counting his possessions, he had never felt the thrill which moved him then.  The little woman was his, and his forever.  His manhood had received the highest public recognition, and he was as happy as if it had been the imposition of a crown.