“The preliminaries were soon arranged, and Mr. Whit-comb and I procured the necessary license. I then called in our minister, the Rev. Mr. Lowe, who performed the marriage ceremony in the parlor of our home. We were very happy that evening in celebrating Henry's and Seraine's wedding, and seemed to have forgotten for the time being all our misfortunes and griefs. In speaking of Seraine's success in visiting the Southern prison-pens and rescuing Henry, I came very near letting out the secret kept from her father and mother about the visit of Mary Anderson to the President in order to rescue her brother, but caught myself in time and changed the conversation. Our minister, a truly loyal man, was most enthusiastic over the marriage, insisting that this was just as it should be, and at the same time expressing some surprise that it had not taken place before. I said to him that I felt so, but had not interfered. I had allowed the two young people to arrange the matter to suit themselves. I must confess, however, that I was well pleased, and certainly should never have been satisfied if Henry had not married Seraine. No more devoted woman ever lived.
“Just at this moment Aunt Martha announced tea. We all entered the dining-room and sat down to tea, as she called it, but found, instead, a right royal wedding feast, which all enjoyed exceedingly. Young James Whitcomb, who had been very quiet during the evening, though very attentive to his mother and father, now asked the minister if he thought it right for him to keep from his parents anything pertaining to himself which might distress them in his absence.
“Mr. Lowe replied that he thought they should know all. All turned and looked at each other with surprise. The young man was silent for a moment, and his great blue eyes filled with tears. He said:
“'I have never heretofore kept anything from my mother, father or sister, and I am now fully determined to tell them all about myself.'
“We enjoyed our dinner, however, and joked Henry by telling him that Seraine would have to look after him, as she had been doing all through the war up to this time.
“Here Aunt Martha had to come in; we could not stop her. She said:
“'Yes, sah; dat gal takes kear of Marsa Henry. If it not done been for her he done starved to deff, he would. Dem Sesh, dey be affer dis fambly. Dey done kill mos' all, and am still affer you. I tells you, dey am; I knows dem, I do. Marsa Henry, you mus' stay home wid de folks, you mus'.'
“At this my wife became much distressed. I told Aunt Martha to stop, which she did. Aunt Sarah then referred to Peter, saying that her dreams were now entirely about him, and that she was sorely troubled on his account. Ham stood near by, listening, and said:
“'No mistake, Marsa Peter all right. I see him las' night in my head glass when I's sleep. He all right, sho'.'
“By this time we had finished dinner, or tea, and were returning to the sitting room, when James Whitcomb took his parents out on the veranda and told them all about his trouble, the kindness of our family, Mary Anderson's trip to see the President, his clemency, etc.; his present situation, and how he obtained his position. We thought that this was a mistake, but he felt relieved, and his parents and sister, after they were satisfied of his having done no wrong intentionally, felt that it was the best for them to know it. We had intended it should be kept from them, but it was now no longer a secret in my family, and it was perhaps best that his father and mother should know all.