The only drawback to Dab’s happiness that day was that his acquaintances hardly seemed to know him.  He had had almost the same trouble with himself when he looked in the glass that morning.

Ordinarily, his wrists were several inches through his coat sleeves, and his ankles made a perpetual show of his stockings.  His neck, too, seemed usually to be holding his head as far as possible from his coat collar, and his buttons had no favor to ask of his button-holes.

Now, even as the tailor had promised, he had received his “first fit.”  He seemed to himself, to tell the truth, to be covered up in a prodigal waste of nice cloth.  Would he ever, ever grow too big for such a suit of clothes as that?  It was a very painful thought, and he did his best to put it away from him.

Still, it was a little hard to have a young lady, whom he had known before she began to walk, remark to him:  “Excuse me, sir, but can you tell me if Mr. Dabney Kinzer is here?”

“No, Jenny Walters,” sharply responded Dab, “he isn’t here.”

“Why, Dabney!” exclaimed the pretty Jenny, “is that you?  I declare, you’ve scared me out of a year’s growth.”

“I wish you’d scare me, then,” said Dab.  “Then my clothes would stay fitted.”

Everything had been so well arranged beforehand, thanks to Mrs. Kinzer, that the wedding had no chance at all except to go off well.  Ham Morris was rejoiced to find how entirely he was relieved of every responsibility.

“Don’t worry about your house, Hamilton,” the widow said to him the night before.  “We’ll go over there as soon as you and Miranda get away, and it’ll be all ready for you by the time you get back.”

“All right,” said Ham.  “I’ll be glad to have you take the old place in hand.  I’ve only tried to live in a corner of it.  You don’t know how much room there is.  I don’t, I must say.”

Dabney had longed to ask her if she meant to have it moved over to the Kinzer side of the north fence, but he had doubts as to the propriety of it, and just then the boy came in from the tailor’s with his bundle of new clothes.

CHAPTER II.

Hamilton Morris was a very promising young man, of some thirty summers.  He had been an “orphan” for a dozen years, and the wonder was that he should so long have lived alone in the big square-built house his father left him.  At all events, Miranda Kinzer was just the wife for him.

Miranda’s mother had seen that at a glance, the moment her mind was settled about the house.  As to that and his great, spreading, half-cultivated farm, all either of them needed was ready money and management.

These were blessings Ham was now made reasonably sure of, on his return from his wedding trip, and he was likely to appreciate them.