So it chanced that Katy came downstairs with pretty little Rose clinging to her like a sort of impromptu bridesmaid; and meeting Ned’s eyes as he stood at the foot waiting for her, she forgot herself, lost the little sense of shyness which was creeping over her, and responded to his look with a tender, brilliant smile.  The light from the hall-door caught her face and figure just then, the color flashed into her cheeks; and she looked like a beautiful, happy picture of a bride, and all by accident,—­which was the best thing about it; for pre-arranged effects are not always effective, and are apt to betray their pre-arrangement.

Then Katy took Ned’s arm, little Rose let go her hand, and they went into the parlor and were married.

Dr. Stone had an old-fashioned and very solemn wedding service which he was accustomed to use on such occasions.  He generally spoke of the bride as “Thy handmaiden,” which was a form that Clover particularly deprecated.  He had also been known to advert to the world where there is neither marrying nor giving in marriage as a great improvement on this, which seemed, to say the least, an unfortunate allusion under the circumstances.  But upon this occasion his feelings were warmed and touched, and he called Katy “My dear child,” which was much better than “Thy handmaiden.”

When the ceremony was over, Ned kissed Katy, and her father kissed her, and the girls and Dorry and Phil; and then, without waiting for any one else, she left her place and went straight to where Cousin Helen lay on her sofa, watching the scene with those clear, tender eyes in which no shadow of past regrets could be detected.  Katy knelt down beside her, and they exchanged a long, silent embrace.  There was no need for words between hearts which knew each other so well.

After that for a little while all was congratulations and good wishes.  I think no bride ever carried more hearty good-will into her new life than did my Katy.  All sorts of people took Ned off into corners to tell him privately what a fortunate person he was in winning such a wife.  Each fresh confidence of this sort was a fresh delight to him, he so thoroughly agreed with it.

“She’s a prize, sir!—­she’s a prize!” old Mr. Worrett kept repeating, shaking Ned’s hand with each repetition.  Mrs. Worrett had not been able to come.  She never left home now on account of the prevailing weakness of carryalls; but she sent Katy her best love and a gorgeous broom made of the tails of her own peacocks.

“Aren’t you sorry you are not going to stay and have a nice time with us all, and help eat up the rest of the cake?” demanded Clover, as she put her head into the carriage for a last kiss, two hours later.

“Very!” said Katy; but she didn’t look sorry at all.

“There’s one comfort,” Clover remarked valiantly, as she walked back to the house with her arm round Rose’s waist.  “She’s coming back in December, when the ship sails, and as likely as not she will stay a year, or perhaps two.  That’s what I like about the navy.  You can eat your cake, and have it too.  Husbands go off for good long times, and leave their wives behind them.  I think it’s delightful!”