“Ye made purty solemn business on’t, Parson,” said Jim.

“It’s a very important step, Mr. Fenton,” responded the clergyman.

“Step!” exclaimed Jim.  “That’s no name for’t; it’s a whole trip.  But I sh’ll do it.  When I said it I meaned it.  I sh’ll take care o’ the little woman, and atween you an’ I, Parson, it’s about the best thing as a man can do.  Takin’ care of a woman is the nateral thing for a man, an’ no man ain’t much as doesn’t do it, and glad o’ the job.”

The capacity of a country assembly for cakes, pies, and lemonade, is something quite unique, especially at a morning festival.  If the table groaned at the beginning, it sighed at the close.  The abundance that asserted itself in piles of dainties was left a wreck.  It faded away like a bank of snow before a drift of southern vapor.  Jim, foraging among the solids, found a mince pie, to which he devoted himself.

“This is the sort o’ thing as will stan’ by a man in trouble,” said he, with a huge piece in his hand.

Then, with a basket of cake, he vanished from the house, and distributed his burden among the boys at the gate.

“Boys, I know ye’re hungry, ’cause ye’ve left yer breakfast on yer faces.  Now git this in afore it rains.”

The boys did not stand on the order of the service, but helped themselves greedily, and left his basket empty in a twinkling.

“It beats all nater,” said Jim, looking at them sympathetically, “how much boys can put down when they try.  If the facks could be knowed, without cuttin’ into ’em, I’d be willin’ to bet somethin’ that their legs is holler.”

While Jim was absent, the bride’s health was drunk in a glass of lemonade, and when he returned, his own health was proposed, and Jim seemed to feel that something was expected of him.

“My good frens,” said he, “I’m much obleeged to ye.  Ye couldn’t ‘a’ treated me better if I’d ‘a’ been the president of this country.  I ain’t used to yer ways, but I know when I’m treated well, an’ when the little woman is treated well.  I’m obleeged to ye on her ‘count.  I’m a goin’ to take ‘er into the woods, an’ take care on ‘er.  We are goin’ to keep a hotel—­me and the little woman—­an’ if so be as any of ye is took sick by overloadin’ with cookies ‘arly in the day, or bein’ thinned out with lemonade, ye can come into the woods, an’ I’ll send ye back happy.”

There was a clapping of hands and a flutter of handkerchiefs, and a merry chorus of laughter, and then two vehicles drove up to the door.  The bride bade a tearful farewell to her multitude of friends, and poured out her thanks to the minister’s family, and in twenty minutes thereafter, two happy loads of passengers went pounding over the bridge, and off up the hill on the way to Number Nine.  The horses were strong, the morning was perfect, and Jim was in possession of his bride.  They, with Miss Snow, occupied one carriage, while Mr. Benedict and the Balfours