"What fools those reporters are, to be sure, and the Brownes are bigger fools to allow such stuff to be printed," was Miss McPherson's comment upon the articles which appeared in the Spy and the Gazette, and the Springfield Republican, and her opinion was pretty generally shared by the citizens of Allington, who immediately raked up the ashes of the Brownes' past history, and recalled with great zest the times when Mrs. Browne had worked in the kitchen at Grey's Park, while poor Mr. Browne was charged with every possible second-class occupation, from mending brass kettles down to peddling clothes-pins.
Fortunately, however, Mrs. Browne was in happy ignorance of all this. She only knew that she had "killed a bear," as she expressed it, and that she had been described as an elegant and accomplished lady, who led the ton in Allington.
"I guess I've whipped 'em all, though I'll wait and see what Miss McPherson does," she said; but Miss McPherson did nothing.
It was the wish of both Bessie and Grey that the wedding should be as quiet as possible. Any one was free to go to the church where the ceremony took place one morning the last week in November, and which was filled with plain, respectable people. But only Hannah and Lucy Grey, Mr. and Mrs. Burton Jerrold, and the clergyman, Mr. Sanford, went to the house, where the wedding-breakfast was served, and where Miss Betsey broke down more than once, as she thought how soon she had lost the girl whom she had learned to love so much. Grey and Bessie were going to New York that afternoon, for they were to sail the next day, and Hannah was going with them. No good reason had been assigned for this sudden trip across the ocean at this season of the year, and only Mr. Sanford knew why it was taken. Hannah had told him everything, and while he expressed his pleasure that the long search and waiting had at last been rewarded in so satisfactory a manner, he added, sadly: "I hope you will not stay there long. I shall be very lonely without you, Hanny."
It was the first time he had given her the pet name of old, since Martha had been laid to rest in the church-yard, and as a penance for doing so, he went the same day to Martha's grave and stood there at least fifteen minutes, with the November rain falling upon him until his clothes were nearly wet through.
"Poor Martha," he sighed, as he turned away, "she would be fidgeted to death if she knew how wet I am. I guess I had better drink some boneset when I get home. I believe that is what she used to give me."