“I declare,” said Frank, “this thing grows worse and worse!  Why, there are three of you.  I shall have to wed not only ’Christina Jansen,’ and ‘Christina Carlson,’ but ‘Christina Carl’s Dotter.’  Why, that would be not only bigamy, but trigamy!”

And then Estella came to the rescue, and said that she felt sure that Max would be glad to have her even if there were a dozen of her.

And Frank, who had become riotous, said to me: 

“You see, old fellow, you are about to marry a girl with a pedigree, and I another without one.”

“No,” said Christina, “I deny that charge; with us the very name we bear declares the pedigree.  I am ‘Christina Carl’s Dotter,’ and ‘Carl’ was the son of ‘John,’ who was the son of ‘Frederick,’ who was the son of ‘Christian;’ and so on for a hundred generations.  I have a long pedigree; and I am very proud of it; and, what is more, they were all good, honest, virtuous people.”  And she heightened up a bit.  And then Frank kissed her before us all, and she boxed his ears, and then dinner was announced.

And what a pleasant dinner it was:  the vegetables, crisp and fresh, were from their own garden; and the butter and milk and cream and schmearkase from their own dairy; and the fruit from their own trees; and the mother told us that the pudding was of Christina’s own making; and thereupon Frank ate more of it than was good for him; and everything was so neat and bright, and everybody so happy; and Frank vowed that there never was before such luscious, golden butter; and Mrs. Jansen told us that that was the way they made it in Sweden, and she proceeded to explain the whole process.  The only unhappy person at the table, it seemed to me, was poor Carl, and he had a wretched premonition that he was certainly going to drop some of the food on that brand-new broadcloth suit of his.  I feel confident that when we took our departure he hurried to take off that overwhelming grandeur, with very much the feeling with which the dying saint shuffles off the mortal coil, and soars to heaven.

But then, in the midst of it all, there came across me the dreadful thought of what was to burst upon the world in a few days; and I could have groaned aloud in anguish of spirit.  I felt we were like silly sheep gamboling on the edge of the volcano.  But why not?  We had not brought the world to this pass.  Why should we not enjoy the sunshine, and that glorious light, brighter than all sunshine—­the love of woman?  For God alone, who made woman—­the true woman—­knows the infinite capacities for good which he has inclosed within her soul.  And I don’t believe one bit of that orthodox story.  I think Eve ate the apple to obtain knowledge, and Adam devoured the core because he was hungry.

And these thoughts, of course, were suggested by my looking at Estella.  She and Christina were in a profound conference; the two shades of golden hair mingling curiously as they whispered to each other, and blushed and laughed.  And then Estella came over to me, and smiled and blushed again, and whispered:  “Christina is delighted with the plan.”