"Aw, my dear sawl! look at that now!" cried Mrs. Tregenza. "Walkin',
ackshally walkin'. Well--well!"

The little bride advanced between her father and mother, while relations
and friends marched two and two behind. A vision it was of age and youth,
of bright spring flowers, of spotless cotton and black broadcloth. A matron
or two marched in flaming colors; a few fishermen wore their blue jerseys
under their reefer jackets; the smaller children were led by hand; and the
whole party numbered twelve all told. Mr. Penn looked up at the flags as he
limped along, and a great delight broke out upon his face; the bride's
mother beamed with satisfaction at a compliment not by any means expected,
for the Penns were a humble folk; and the bride blushed and stole a nervous
peep at the display. Mr. Penn touched his hat to the party in the garden,
and Mr. Trevennick, feeling the eye of the multitude upon him, loudly
wished the wedding party well as it passed by.

"Good speed to 'e an' to the maid, Bill Penn. May she live 'appy an' be a
credit to all parties consarned."

"Thank 'e, thank 'e, kindly, Mr. Trevennick. An' us takes it mighty
favorable to see your butivul flags a hangin' out--mighty favorable, I
'sure 'e."

So the party tramped on and ugly Sally looked after them with dim eyes; but
Mrs. Tregenza's thin voice dried them.

"A bad come-along o't for a gal to walk 'pon sich a day. They did ought to
a got her a lift to her weddin', come what might."

"Maybe 'tis all wan to them poor dears. A coach an' four 'orses wouldn'