So Mrs. O’Leary arrived two hours ahead of time and secured her point of vantage.  Under more ordinary circumstances she would have had a hard time to quiet the energetic youngsters, but now they had enough to occupy their minds, for when had they seen such gorgeous flowers, such wonderful ferns?  The sanctuary was massed with them, the little altar standing out in vivid relief against their greenness.  And then there was that wonderful strip of white canvas down the center aisle, that white strip that was so tempting to little feet, but which must not be stepped upon.  And what were those kneeling benches for—­the two draped in white—­one on each side of the open gateway, just inside the communion railing?  And over on the left was a platform bearing a great chair, and over it hung a canopy—­only the children didn’t call it so—­of purple.

They had never seen the sanctuary look like this before!  And then their attention was attracted by the strains of the new organ, hurriedly bought for the occasion.  The choir from the city was practising before the service.  Truly, the little O’Learys were glad that “Grandma” had ignored their cries and had insisted on coming early.  And what would Miss Wilson say at not being permitted to play for the wedding?  That thought alone was enough to keep the little minds busy.

Outside, Main Street was decorated with flags; and the people, keenly expectant, were watching for His Excellency.  Never before had they known the Minister of a Kingdom to step within the boundaries of Sihasset.  Bishops had been seen there before, but Ministers were new, and international weddings had never come nearer than the great metropolis.  Barons, too, were scarce, and who loves a baron—­provided he is not an American “baron”—­any more than the simon-pure Yankee?  So the decorations were up by order of the selectmen, and the merchants vied with one another in making their own ornamentations as gorgeous as possible.  And the people—­with the sole exception of the O’Learys—­waited outside, each anxious to catch the first glimpse of the great man who to-day was to honor them by his presence.

His Excellency arrived at last—­in a low, swift-running automobile, the chauffeur of which seemed to know the road very well, and seemed also to be acquainted with every turn in the village.  There was no one to notice that, when he passed the gates of Killimaga, he laughed quietly.

At Killimaga the gardens had never looked lovelier.  Autumn was kind and contributed almost a summer sun.

Father Murray tore himself away from his guests at the rectory—­and who should those guests be but the old friends who had for so long neglected him—­to run up before the ceremony to see Ruth.  She was already arrayed in her bridal finery, but she rushed out to meet him when she heard that he had arrived.

Holding her off at arm’s length, he looked at her and said, “I think, dearie, that I am going to die very soon.”