"You wicked man," she whispered, "you are a quarter of an hour late.
The parson is waiting."
The parson was a little man with white hair. He stepped toward the couple standing together, and the widow took the baker's hand. Then the parson began the little speech he always made on such occasions. It was full of good sense and very touching, and the widow's eyes were dim with tears. The baker would have spoken, but he had never interrupted a clergyman, and he could not do it now.
Then the parson began his appointed work, and the heart of the baker swelled, as the widow's hand trembled in his own.
"Wilt thou have this woman to be thy wedded wife?" asked the parson.
"Now for this," quoth the poor baker to himself, "I may bake forever, but I cannot draw back nor keep the good man waiting." And he said, "Yes."
Then it was that the baker received what he had come for,—the parson's blessing; and, immediately, his fair companion, brimming with tears, threw herself into his arms.
"Now," said the baker to himself, "when I leave this house, may the devil take me, and right welcome shall he be!"
"Dearest," she exclaimed, as she looked into his face, "you cannot know how happy I am. My wedding day, and my brother back from the cruel seas!"
Struck by a sudden blast of bewildering ecstasy, the baker raised his eyes, and beheld the tall form of the sun-browned stranger who had been standing behind them.
"You are not a sailor-man," quoth the jovial brother, "like my old mate, who went down in the brig Mistletoe, but my sister tells me you are a jolly good fellow, and I wish you fair winds and paying cargoes." And after giving the baker a powerful handshake, the sailor kissed the bride, the parson's wife, the parson's daughter, and the parson's maid, and wished the family were larger, having just returned from the cruel seas.