“I will bring them when I come home,” repeated Carroll.

“Well, we’ll all go in to-morrow night, and we’ll see that dance,” said the major.

But when Carroll, on his return from the barber’s shop, brought the papers, Major Arms discovered, much to his disappointment, that that particular attraction had been removed from the roof-garden.  There was a long and flattering encomium of the song and dance which upheld him in his enthusiasm.

“Yes, it was a big thing; you can understand by what it says here,” said he, “I was right.  I’m mighty sorry it’s off.”

Chapter XXI

Anderson on Wednesday evening sat on the porch and saw the people stream by to the wedding.  Mrs. Anderson, although it was a very pleasant and warm evening, did not come outside, but sat by the parlor window, well-screened by the folds of the old damask curtain.  The wedding was at eight, and by quarter-past seven the people began to pass; by half-past seven the street was quite full of them.  It seemed as if all Banbridge was gathering.  A church wedding was quite an unusual festivity in the town, and, besides, there had always been so much curiosity with regard to the Carrolls that interest was doubled in this case.  His mother called to him softly from the parlor.  “There are a great many going, aren’t they?” said she.

“Yes, mother,” replied Anderson.  He distinctly heard a soft sigh from the window, and his heart smote him a little.  He realized dimly that a matter like this might seem important to a woman.  Presently he heard a soft flop of draperies, and his mother stood large and white and mild behind him.

“They are nearly all gone who are going, I think?” said she, interrogatively.

Anderson looked at his watch, holding it towards the light of the moon, which was just coming above the horizon.  The daylight had paled with suddenness like a lamp burning low from lack of oil.  “Yes; they must be all gone now,” said he.  “It is eight o’clock.”

He rose and placed a chair for his mother, and she settled into it.

“I thought I would not come out here while the people were passing,” said she.  “I have my matinee on, and I am never quite sure that it is dress enough for the porch.”

Anderson looked at the lacy, beribboned thing which his mother wore over her black silk skirt, and said it was very pretty.

“Yes, it is,” said she, “but I am never sure that it is just the thing to be out of my own room in.  I suppose the dresses to-night will be very pretty.  Miss Carroll ought to make a lovely bride.  She is a very pretty girl, and so is her sister.  I dare say their dresses will be prettier than anything of the kind ever seen in Banbridge.”

There was an indescribable wistfulness in Mrs. Anderson’s voice.  Large and rather majestic woman that she was, she spoke like a disappointed child, and her son looked at her with wonder.