"It's an unfair thing for an old fellow like you to do. And you had money enough of your own; her fortune should have gone to help some nice young fellow along. Why, really Cynthia has hardly outgrown childhood. You might have been her father!"
"Hardly!" returned Chilian dryly.
On their return the house was opened and really crowded with guests. Cynthia was in her most splendid attire. Happiness had certainly improved Chilian Leverett, he had gained some flesh and looked younger. The most beautiful belongings had been brought out to decorate the rooms.
"For I am not going to have them stored away for possible grandchildren," she declared gayly.
And the guests had a charming welcome. The younger girls were truly glad she had made her election, and no one could deny that she was very much in love with her husband. Neither had need to marry for money, since both had fortunes. And they wished her health and happiness with all their hearts.
Jane had said to her, "Mis' Leverett, there's an old adage:
| "'Change the name and not the letter, |
| You marry for worse and not for better.'" |
Cynthia laughed. "I'm not going to let signs or omens trouble me. And I haven't even changed my name, so the letter cannot count. And it is one of the good old Salem names. It was my dear father's."
One incident touched Cynthia deeply. Eunice took her up in the garret one day and exhumed from a chest the beautiful white quilt of Elizabeth's handiwork. Pinned to one corner was a card, "For my little Cynthia."
"Only a few days before she had her stroke she made me write this and go up and pin it on the quilt. Maybe she'd had a warning, people do sometimes. I supposed she'd leave it to Chilian. Oh, my dear, she'd be so glad to have you go on in the old house if she could know."