"Wal, I can tell you, it is a nice surprise, but I felt kinder skeered at the fust, eh Melindy!"
The latter looked quite bridish with her maroon dress and lace ruffles and white flowers—the same which she purchased at Manchester three years previous, still as fresh as if bathed in morning dew.
And the number of guests!
It was no wonder that Mr. Moses Spriggins was in a state of dire confusion as he surveyed the smiling throng of intelligence, grace and beauty, and last, but not least, the pretty and becoming costumes of the fair wearers.
Foremost in the group is Marguerite Verne. "She looks too good for anything," says the enthusiastic host as he contemplates the sweet maiden in a neat black satin frock relieved by a spray of forget-me-nots and pansies.
"And Miss Lottie, what shall I call you—a great big doll with a red shiny dress on."
"Moses Spriggins, I'm ashamed of your ignorance; why it's pink veiling Miss Lottie has on, and I'm sure she looks nicer than any of them china-faced dolls in shop winders."
"Wal, wal, Melindy, you wimin folks oughter know mor'n men folks," replied Moses rushing out of the front door to see if the "hosses were all seen to."
The best room never appeared to more advantage than on this festive occasion. The old-fashioned looking glass seemed to take pride in reflecting the pretty faces and sunny smiles, while the cheerful fire on the hearth played hide-and-seek with the brazen andirons, and sent out a glow of warmth that was emblematic of the big warm welcome of the generous family.
Each guest had to receive a share of Mrs. Spriggins' eulogium, and a lively time ensued.