True to her promise, Mrs. Mason the next Thursday sent Judith over to the cottage with her “spoons, dishes, little towels, and astor lamp,” while she herself carried over the best and fairest flowers which had escaped the frosts of autumn.  Mary was chosen to dress the bride, who, spite of her red hair, would have looked quite well, had her skirt been a trifle longer and wider.  Mrs. Perkins had insisted that five breadths of silk was sufficient, consequently Sally Ann looked as Sal Furbush said, “not wholly unlike a long tallow candle, with a red wick.”

Mrs. Perkins, who flourished in a lace cap and scarlet ribbons, greeted her son-in-law with a burst of tears, saying she little thought when they were young that she should ever be his mother!

For the sake of peace Mr. Parker had invited Miss Grundy to be present at the wedding, but as this was the first intimation that Miss Grundy had received of the matter, she fell into a violent fit of anger, bidding him to “go to grass with his invitations,” and adding very emphatically, that “she’d have him to know she never yet saw the day when she’d marry him, or any other living man.”

Mr. Parker of course couldn’t dispute her, so he turned away, wondering within himself “what made wimmen so queer!”

The day following the wedding, the bride went to her new home, where she was received by Miss Grundy with a grunt which was probably intended for a “how d’ye do.”  Uncle Peter expressed his pleasure at making the acquaintance of one more of the “fair sect,” but hoped that “estimable lady her mother, wouldn’t feel like visiting her often, as mothers were very apt to make mischief.”  Sally Furbush was the only cool and collected one present, and she did the honors of the house so gracefully and well, that but for the wildness of her eyes and an occasional whispering to herself, the bride would never have suspected her of insanity.

CHAPTER XXIII.

LIFE IN BOSTON.

“Come this way, Mary.  I’ll show you your chamber.  It’s right here next to mine,” said Ida Selden, as on the evening of her friend’s arrival she led her up to a handsomely furnished apartment, which for many weeks had borne the title of “Mary’s room.”

“Oh, how pleasant!” was Mary’s exclamation, as she surveyed the room in which every thing was arranged with such perfect taste.

A cheerful coal fire was blazing in the grate, for no murderous stove was ever suffered to invade the premises where Aunt Martha ruled.  The design of the Brussels carpet was exquisitely beautiful, and the roses upon it looked as if freshly plucked from the parent stalk.  At one end of the room, and just opposite the grate, were two bay windows, overlooking Mr. Selden’s fine, large garden, and shaded by curtains of richly embroidered lace.  In front of the fire was a large easy chair, covered with crimson