Its suggestion was not to be denied.  I stopped just where I was, and in two minutes my strong hands ripped that tulle and lace and chiffon from my back without waiting to undo hooks and eyes.  In another three minutes I was into a pair of the tan cotton stockings and the flat shoes, which Pan had made me that rainy day in the barn, had on my corduroys and a linen smock, and was running down to my wedding with wings of the wind.

When I reached the back porch I found Polly sitting up on the floor, with Matthew’s arms around her, and the entire wedding-party standing beside the back steps, looking on and ejaculating with thankfulness.  Old Parson Henderson stood near, beaming down benedictions for the rescue, and I decided that they were all in a daze in which anything could be put over on them.

“Here’s my bundle and me,” I whispered to Pan, as he stood regarding the young recovered squaw proudly.  “Hand the license to Parson Hendricks.  I’ll make him go on and marry us and get away before anybody puts me back into tulle.”

“As Polly is all right now we’ll have the wedding, for it’s getting late, and we want to get across to the Paradise Ridge to camp,” said Adam, with the fluty command in his voice which always gets attention and obedience.  As he spoke he put down his bundle, gave Parson Hendricks the document, and drew me beside him.  I kept my bundle in my hand and stood with my other in his.

“Why, I didn’t know that—­” the old parson began to splutter while a murmur of surprise and question began to arise among the hitherto hypnotized wedding-guests.  Judge Rutherford stood apart with the twin parents showing them some book treasure he had unearthed for father, and I don’t think that either one of my natural guardians was at my wedding except in body.

At the critical moment dear old Matt did rise to the occasion, as did Polly also, with a crimson glow coming into her drenched cheeks, pallid only a second before, and a light like sunrise on a violet bank coming into her eyes.

“She’s always intended to marry Baldwin.  I knew all about it.  Go on!” Matthew commanded, as he supported Polly in her blankets on wobbly bare feet.

During the resuscitation of Polly, Owen Murray, true to his new passion for the Leghorn family, had been reviving Mr. G. Bird and now with regard for decorum, he set him quietly upon his feet.  Did the Golden Bird run like a coward from the scene of the catastrophe of his making?  He did not.  He deliberately stretched his wings, gave a mighty crow, and walked over and began to peck in my smock-pockets at corn that had lain there many long weeks for him.

“Go on, Parson,” commanded Pan again, impatiently, and then standing together in the fading sunlight, Pan, Mr. G. Bird, and I were married.

Did Pan allow me to stay and make satisfactory explanations of my conduct to my friends and enjoy the wedding festivities so carefully copied out of the “Review” by Polly and Matthew?  He did not.  Immediately after the ceremony he picked up his two bundles and turned to all of our assembled friends.