Out came Ian, a portion of the goat harness on his head and shoulders, followed by Richard, around whose neck the reins were fastened, and between them they carried the great heavy silver tea-tray only used on state occasions.  In the centre of it rested a pink sofa pillow, upon which some small, flat object like a note was lying.

They came straight across the hall, halting in front of me, and saying earnestly, “We didn’t ask for the harness, but Uncle Martin says that people always give their best mens presents.”  I looked at him for a second, not understanding, then Evan, with a curious twinkle in his eye, strode across, whispering to me, “The Deluge,” as he picked up the card and read aloud, “Mr. and Mrs. Martin Cortright!” It was the card that Richard had printed several days before and carried in strange company in his warm, mussy little pocket ever since.

There was tense silence, and then a shout, as Martin took his wife’s hand that wore the wedding ring and laid it on mine; then he and father fairly hugged each other, for father did not forget those long-ago days of the strawberries that Martin could not gather.

When the excitement had subsided and dinner was over, Martha and Tim, to whom the horse matter had been explained, came over to offer their congratulations,—­at least Martha did.  Timothy merely grinned, and, to the best of my belief, winked slyly at Martin, as much as to say, “We may be long in knowing our minds, but when we men are ready, the weemen fair tumble over us.”

“Indeed, mum, but I wish you joy, and that he’ll lead you as easy a life as Tim’thy here does me, ’deed I do, and no disrespeck intended,” was Martha’s parting sentence; and then our wonder as to whether Martin was going to town, or what, was cut short by his rising, looking at his watch, and saying in the most matter-of-fact way to Lavinia:  “Is your bag ready?  You know we leave in an hour.”

“Does Lucy expect you?” I ventured to ask.

“Oh no, I shall not trouble her until the day appointed.  We shall go to the Manhattan, I think.”

“How about your cousin Lydia?” asked father, who could not resist a chance to tease.

“I forgot all about her!” exclaimed poor Lavinia, clasping her hands tragically and looking really conscience-stricken.  “And I,” said Evan, who had suddenly jumped up and rammed his hand into his side pocket, “forgot to post your letter to her!”

* * * * *

October 31.  We have all been to New York to visit the runaway Cortrights, as Evan calls them, now that they are settled, and it is pleasant to see that so much belated happiness is possible.  The fate of Lavinia’s house is definitely arranged; they will remain in “Greenwich Village,” in spite of all advice to move up in town.  The defunct back yard is being covered by an extension that will give Martin a fine library, with a side window and a scrap of balcony, while the ailantus tree is left, that bob-tailed Josephus may not be deprived of the feline pleasures of the street or his original way of reaching it over the side fence; and the flower garden that was, will be the foundation of a garden of books under the kindly doctrine of compensation.