“I knew it would be, Corn-tassel,” he answered, with an expression of affectionate confidence and pride.

Then from the embrace of Uncle Cradd I walked straight through the back door towards the barn, leaving both Bess and Annette in a state of wild remonstrance, with the wedding paraphernalia all being carried up the stairs by Bud and Rufus.  Looking neither to the right nor to the left, I made my way to the barn-door and then stopped still—­dead still.

It was no longer my barn—­it was merely the entrance to a model poultry farm that spread out acres and acres of model houses and runs behind it.  Chickens, both white and red, were clucking and working in all the pens, and nowhere among them could I see the Golden Bird.

“I hope he’s dead, too,” I said as I turned on my heel and, without a word, walked back to the house and up to my room, past Polly and Matthew, who stood at the barn-door, their faces pale with anxiety.

When I considered that I had been able for months to clothe myself with decency and leave my room in less than fifteen minutes, I could not see why time dragged so for me when being clothed by Annette and Aunt Mary.  True, Aunt Mary paused to sniff into her handkerchief every few minutes or to listen to Annette’s French raptures as she laid upon me each foolish garment up unto the long swath of heathenish tulle she was beginning to arrange when an interruption occurred in the shape of Rufus, who put his head in the door and mysteriously summoned Polly, who had come in to exhibit her silk muslin frills, in which she was the incarnation of young love’s dream.

“You are beautiful, darling,” I had just said, with the first warmth in my voice I had felt for many days, when Rufus appeared and Polly departed to leave Annette and Aunt Mary to the task of the tulle and orange-blossoms.  They took their time, and it was only five minutes to five when Bess came in to get her procession all marshalled.

“Come down the back steps, darling, and let’s all cool off on the back porch,” she advised.  “It is terribly hot up here under the roof, and Polly and Matthew say they have decided to come in from the back door so everybody will have a better view of you.  How beautiful you are!”

As directed, I descended and stood spread out like a white peacock on the back porch.

“Now call Matthew and Polly,” Bess directed Annette.

For several minutes we waited.

“Monsieur Berry is not here,” finally reported Annette, with fine dramatic effect of her outspread hands.

“Tell Owen to find him,” commanded Bess.  “It is five minutes late now, and they must make that seven-twenty New York train.  Hurry!”

Annette departed while Aunt Mary came to the back door and looked out questioningly.

“Great guns, Bess, where is Matt?” demanded Owen as he came around the house with his eyes and hair wild.

“Where is Polly? she’ll know!” I answered tranquilly.