Mr. Derby was saying encouragingly:  “There is the church, Mr. Van Trader.  Brace up.  We seem to be the first to arrive.”

“It’s much farther away than you think,” growled Mr. Van Truder.  “I can’t see the lights in the window.”

“There are no lights yet.  We are ahead of them.  I’ll try the door.”

The young minister kicked the mud from his shoes as he went up the steps with the lantern.  He tried the door vigorously, and then, holding the lantern high, surveyed the surroundings.  Mr. Van Truder, bundled up like a motorman, stood below shivering—­but with joy.

“This is a great night for an affair of this kind,” he quaked.  “By George, I feel twenty years younger.  I believe I could turn handsprings.”

“I wouldn’t if I were you.  Don’t forget your somersault over that log back there, and your splendid headspin in the mud puddle.  It’s past nine o’clock.  Joe’s cousin was to be here at 8.45.  Wonder what keeps him.  Joe will be here himself in a jiffy.  Dear me, what a dreadful night they have chosen for a wedding!”

Windomshire whispered in horror to the girl beside him:  “Good Lord, Anne, they’re following us.”

“Please, Harry,” she whispered petulantly, “hold the umbrella still.  The water from the rainspout is dripping down my back.”

“By George, I wish Mrs. Van Truder could see me now,” came valiantly from the old gentleman around the corner.  “Say, whistle again.”  Derby gave three sharp, shrill whistles.  In silence they waited a full minute for the response.  There was not a sound except the dripping of the rain.

“I’m afraid something is wrong,” said Derby.  Just at that instant Windomshire, despite most heroic efforts to prevent the catastrophe, sneezed with a violence that shook his entire frame.  “Sh! don’t speak,” hissed the startled minister.  “We are being watched.  That was unmistakably a sneeze.”

“I can’t see any one,” whispered Mr. Van Trader, excitedly.  “I see just as well in the dark as I do in the light, too.”

“Some one is coming.  See!  There’s a light down the road.  Let’s step out of sight just for a moment.”

Windomshire sneezed again, as if to accelerate the movements of the two men.

“Hang it all!” he gurgled in despair.  Mr. Derby had blinded his lantern and was hurrying off into the grove with his companion.

“I can’t help laughing, Harry,” whispered Anne, giggling softly.  “You sneeze like an elephant.”

“But an elephant has more sense than to sneeze as I do.  I knew I’d take cold.  Anne, they’re after us.  It’s old Mrs. Van Truder’s work.  What are they up to?”

“Whatever it is, dear, they’re just as much mystified as we are.  Did you hear him whistle?  It is a signal.”

“I say, Anne, it’s a beastly mess I’ve got you into,” groaned he.

“Dear old Harry, it is but the beginning of the mess you’re getting yourself into.  I love this—­every bit of it.”