“You’ve been reading the society column.  Give me the star, and I’ll get the veil.”

“You shall have it the first minute we get to town.  I’d rob the Milky Way for you, if I could.  I’d give you a handful of stars to play with and let you roll the sun and moon over the golf links.”

“I may take the moon,” she replied.  “I’ve always liked the looks of it, but I’m afraid the sun would burn my fingers.  Somebody once got into trouble, I believe, for trying to drive the chariot of the sun for a day.  Give me the moon and just one star.”

“Which star do you want?”

[Sidenote:  The Love-star]

“The love-star,” she answered, very softly.  “Will you keep it shining for me, in spite of clouds and darkness?”

“Indeed I will.”

The horses stopped at Barbara’s door.  Allan went across the street to call for Roger and Eloise went in to invite Barbara to go for a drive.

“How lovely you look,” cried Barbara, in admiration.  “You look like a bride.”

“Make yourself look bridal also,” suggested Eloise, flushing, “by putting on your best white gown.  Roger is coming, too.”

Barbara missed the point entirely.  It did not take her long to get ready, and she sang happily to herself while she was dressing.  She put a white lace scarf of her mother’s over her golden hair, which was now piled high on her shapely head, and started out, for the first time in all her twenty-two years, for a journey beyond the limits of her own domain.

Allan and Roger helped her in.  She was very awkward about it, and was sufficiently impressed with her awkwardness to offer a laughing apology.  “I’ve never been in a carriage before,” she said, “nor seen a train, nor even a church.  All I’ve had is pictures and books—­and Roger,” she added, as an afterthought, when he took his place beside her on the back seat.

“You’re going to see lots of things to-day that you never saw before,” observed Allan, starting the horses toward the hill road.  “We’ll begin by showing you a church, and then a wedding.”

“A wedding!” cried Barbara.  “Who is going to be married?”

“We,” he replied, concisely.  “Don’t you think it’s time?”

“Isn’t it sudden?” asked Roger.  “I thought you weren’t going to be married until almost Christmas.”

“I’ve been serving time now for two years,” explained Allan, “and she’s given me two months off for good behaviour.  Just remember, young man, when your turn comes, that nothing is sudden when you’ve been waiting for it all your life.”

[Sidenote:  The Little White Church]

The door of the little white church was open and the sun that streamed through the door and the stained glass windows carried the glory and the radiance of Autumn into every nook and corner of it.  At the altar burned two tall taper lights, and the young minister, in white vestments, was waiting.

The joking mood was still upon Allan and Eloise, but she requested in all seriousness that the word “obey” be omitted from the ceremony.