Well might the Sycamore Ridge _Weekly Banner_ declare that the "tables groaned with good things." There were not merely a little piddling dish of salad, a bite of cake, and a dab of ice-cream.

There were turkey and potatoes and vegetables and fruit and bread and cake and pudding and pie--four kinds of pie, mark you--and preserves, and "Won't you please, Mrs.Culpepper, try some of that piccalilli ?" and "Oh, Mrs.Ward, if you just would have a slice of that fruit cake," and "Now, General,--a little more of the gravy for that turkey dressing--it is such a long ride home," or "Colonel, I know you like corn bread, and I made this myself as a special compliment to Virginia." And through it all the bride sat watching the door--looking always through the crowd for some one.

Her face was anxious and her heart was clouded, and when the guests had gone and the house was empty, she left her husband and slipped out of the back door.

There, after the glare of the lamps had left her eyes, she saw a little man walking with his head down, out near the barn, and she ran to him and threw her arms about him and kissed him, and when she led Lycurgus Mason, who was all washed and dressed, back through the kitchen to her husband, John saw that the man's eyelids were red, and that on the starched cuffs were the marks of tears.

For to him she was only his little girl, and John afterward knew that she was the only friend he had in the world.