Mr. Hayden began to talk very solemnly—­almost like preaching.  No one else spoke; no one smiled.  Before Dotty could ask what they were doing, Mr. Hayden was praying; and after the prayer, which was so hearty and simple that Dotty could almost understand it, the whole room was in motion again.  Everybody seemed suddenly bent on kissing aunt Madge, though what that young lady had been doing which was better than usual Dotty could not exactly make out.  But this, she concluded, was in some way connected with the entertainment called a wedding.

“Come, now, little lady,” said Mr. Hayden, taking Dotty’s hand, and leading her up to Colonel Allen, “here is the uncle you have bought.  He is new, and a soldier too.  So you see I have done my best for you.”

“That?” said Dotty, pointing her index-finger at the bridegroom in surprise.  “I know him; he isn’t new.  He is Mr. Colonel.  He isn’t my uncle a bit, sir.”

“True, he was not, five minutes ago, Miss Dimple; but the few little words you heard me say to him have made a wonderful change.  He is now your uncle Augustus, and your aunt Margaret is Mrs. Allen.”

Dotty looked up bewildered.  Her newly-married aunt was engaged in talking to the guests; but Colonel Allen was gazing down upon his new niece with an arch smile.

“The minister did not cheat you, you see?” said he.  “He has really given you what he promised.”

“I didn’t want you to marry my good auntie,” was all Dotty’s answer.

“Ah, my dear, that is very sad!  I was not aware that you had any dislike for me.”

“O, I love you,” exclaimed Dotty, “’cause you carry me pickaback; but I wish you knew your letters skippin’ about!”

The minister and the bridegroom smiled at this absurd little speech, and it was repeated to everybody in the room.  Prudy felt very guilty, and blushed like a damask rose, for she knew where Dotty had caught the idea of Colonel Allen’s extreme ignorance.

“I am very sorry, little Miss Dimple, that you object to me,” said the new uncle; “but by and by you and I will take the big dictionary, and you may point out the letters to me.  I think you will find I know them ‘skippin’ about.’  Is there anything else you have against me?”

“Yes, sir,” replied the child, earnestly; “you’re a lawyer—­my father says so.  You wrote to him once.”

“Did I?  What did I write?”

“A letter.”

“And where was the harm in that?”

“O, it looked like turkeys’ tracks—­he said it did.  You wrote the letter with a fly.  You dipped him in the inkstand, and stuck him on a pin, and wrote with him.  My father says so.”

“You surprise me, Dotty.  I really don’t remember it.  Have you any other reason for not wishing me to be your uncle?”

“I wanted you to marry somebody else.”

“Indeed!  You ought to have mentioned it before!  What young lady had you chosen for me, Miss Dimple?”