Classic Audiobook Collection - Miss Philura’s Wedding Gown by Florence Morse Kingsley ~ Full Audiobook [romance]

Episode Date: January 2, 2023

Miss Philura’s Wedding Gown by Florence Morse Kingsley audiobook. Genre: romance In the small township of Innisfield, the once-overlooked Miss Philura stands on the brink of the life she hardly dared to want: a future shaped not by resignation, but by hope. Newly engaged to the town's minister, Silas Pettibone, Philura tries to hold fast to the bright, unsettling idea that changed everything for her - that if you ask with true faith, you have already received. Now that belief is about to be tested in the most public way imaginable. As plans gather for a wedding that the whole community feels entitled to judge, Philura's wedding gown becomes more than a garment: it is a declaration of dignity, joy, and a right to be seen. But Innisfield is a place where opinions travel faster than kindness, where rivalries simmer in church pews, and where well-meaning neighbors can turn ruthless under the banner of propriety. With gentle wit and sharp insight, Florence Morse Kingsley follows Philura through the scrutiny, the whispered doubts, and the everyday battles of small-town life, asking what it really costs to claim happiness - and whether courage can be stitched, like satin and lace, into something strong enough to wear. For ad-free listening try our premium subscription Chapters (Approximate) (00:00:00) Chapter 01 (00:20:36) Chapter 02 (00:45:37) Chapter 03 (01:13:08) Chapter 04 (01:24:04) Chapter 05 (01:40:00) Chapter 06 (01:57:40) Chapter 07 (02:10:53) Chapter 08 (02:37:00) Chapter 09 (02:54:31) Chapter 10 (03:03:38) Chapter 11 (03:12:53) Chapter 12 (03:34:26) Chapter 13 (03:41:35) Chapter 14 Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Miss Fulura's Weddingown By Florence Morse Kingsley Chapter 1 As on a memorable occasion in her not distant past Miss Villura Rice leaned forward and gazed at the reflection of herself which looked back at her from out the somewhat dim and clouded surface of the mirror

atop her shabby little bureau The mirror in question was cracked diagonally across its surface the fact being hinted at by the blue ribbon pinned over the crack. Now it is a custom quite as old as the race itself to gaze at one's reflection in the looking glass. Everyone does it. Generally in private, in the solitude of one's own dressing room, but sometimes in public, catching unexpected

and often disconcerting views of one's face and person in some cunningly placed mirror. For example, Jones, dining at a downtown restaurant, catches sight of a fellow eating at a table near him. What a disagreeable-looking chap, cogitates Jones. Well, I don't like his nose, nor his eyebrows, nor the set of his coat, nor the way he uses his knife and fork. Then it suddenly dawns on Jones

that the whole side of the restaurant is one, huge mirror and that he has been gazing at himself jones and that he doesn't in the least like the look of jones he tries to comfort himself by the reflection that after all it wasn't any sort of a looking-glass not to be compared with the shaving-glass on his own dresser at home with which morning presentment of himself he is complacently familiar but somewhere in the back of his brain lurks the conviction that for once at least he has beheld himself as others see him and that jones is a commonplace not to say disagreeable looking fellow but all this is quite beside the mark when one comes to the consideration of miss filiora's inspection of her small person in the cracked mirror of her own little bedroom. Miss Flora's earnest blue eyes were not concerning themselves with the faint lines about her delicate lips, nor even with the vague mist of silver glinting the brown hair about her ears. No, quite frankly and unaffectedly, the lady was studying the effect of her dress, a world

too large for her. The material was good. There could be no question as to that. It was a satin brocade. exhibiting large sprawling leaves of black on a purple background it was rich and lustrous and the unfashionable skirt swept in billowy folds about the slender figure which continued to twist and turn from side to side before the cracked mirror the crack curiously interrupted and diversified the view so that miss filura saw as it were her small person in sections like an imperfectly constructed picture puzzle but when one has used an article however imperfect for a matter of thirty years one learns to make allowances nevertheless and also notwithstanding miss philura presently divested herself of the black and purple gown with a pensive sigh if only it wasn't black and purple she murmured and if the leaves weren't so large and creepy miss philura sighed a second time

as she took from the table a violet tinted sheet of note-paper exhaling the odour of violets both colour and perfume being particularly affected by the writer of the words scrawled in loose fashionable characters across the page My dear filura, she read for the second time, I own that I was exceedingly surprised, I might almost say, shocked, to learn of your contemplated marriage to the Reverend Mr. Pettibone. Had you seen fit to consult me before taking so serious a step, I should have advised strongly against it. Your life, passed as it has been amid humble surroundings,

and with the very limited means of culture and improvement I have been able to afford you from time to time during your brief stays at my home in Boston have hardly fitted you, in my opinion, for the very grave responsibilities you appear so eager to assume. Let me implore you, before it is too late, to withdraw from the false position in which you find yourself. At your time of life, dear Flora, there can be no romantic ideas concerning love and marriage, which sometimes serve as an excuse for more youthful follies. Should you, however, ignore my advice, as I fear, you will incur the very grave risk attendant upon marriage with an elderly widower, as I understand Mr. Pettibone to be, with your eyes open. I am sending you with this an outworn gown of my own,

which should you persist in rushing in where angels fear to tread, will make over into a suitable dress for the occasion of the marriage. This missive, which Miss Filura perused with a faint frown between her childish brows, was signed. I am, my dear Filura, most sincerely yours, Caroline P. Van Duser. the time had been and that not so long since when miss filura would have been utterly annihilated crushed beaten and routed from any position whatsoever by such a letter signed with the authoritative name caroline p vanduser now she folded the sheet with brisk motions of her roughened finger-tips returned it to its envelope with a little laugh then still brisk and smiling she hung the rustling brocade away in her closet on the way down stairs she even hummed a verse of an ancient hymn which had clung to her memory ever since a memorable sunday marking the beginning of the marvellous new experience which had blossomed in the bleak and barren waste of her existence god's purposes will ripen fast unfolding every hour the bug may have a bitter taste

but sweet will be the flower she sang under her breath miss philura's blue eyes were very bright her thin cheeks very pink as she proceeded to set her tiny rooms in the perfection of cleanliness and order which reminded one of the interior of a wave-washed shell or the heart of a morning glory newly opened to the sun it was a shabby little house within and without but the ancient furniture reflected the bright light of the november day in polished surfaces and even the worn rag rugs on the floor exhibited rich and subtle blendings of colour not unlike those of an eastern prayer rug when all was finished miss filura washed her hands and dried them carefully on the roller towel behind the kitchen door then she sat down by the window and glanced shyly out between the green leaves of the newly potted geraniums the trees were swept bare of leaves in the gales of early November so that one could see clearly silhouetted against the dazzling blue of the sky the slender steeple of the Presbyterian Church next to the church half hid in somber evergreens was the parsonage Miss Filura blushed delicately

As she gazed, her thin hands clasped with the rapture of her thoughts. Only six months and what changes had come over her life. She must needs pity the Miss Filura of that unthinkable time when nobody loved her, and she had faced a dreary vista of days, monotonously alike, beginning with half-hearted prayers to what she fancied a cold-hearted critical judge, seated aloft in a distant heaven, all gold and glittering judge, gems. Then had come the revelation, and after all, it had come about through cousin Caroline Van Duser. Miss Pulura recalled for the thousandth time the day she had made herself ready to

accompany Mrs. Van Duser to the ontological club in Boston. She pictured with positive relish, her shrinking self, seated meekly opposite the magnificent person of Mrs. J. Mortimer Van Duser, wearing the ill-fitted dress of black alpaca and the obsolete bonnet tied primly under her chin and my hair she murmured addressing her maltese cat who was watching her with a reflective gleam in his jewel-like eyes do you remember mortimer how i used to fix my hair the name of miss villura's cat marked her one previous ebullition of what she had sadly recognised as that phase of character known in theological circles as unregenerate human nature. But the cat had so resembled the husband of Mrs. J. Mortimer van user with his cold, calculating eyes, his

feline neatness of person, his well-tended whiskers, and the terrifying gaze he was wont to bestow upon her small self when at infrequent intervals she appeared at his hospitable board. The inevitable meeting, with that awe-inspiring millionaire, who had the honour of calling Mrs. Caroline Van Duser his wife, was almost enough to deter one from seeking light and culture in the undeniable centre of all light and culture. Mr. J. Mortimer Van Duser never appeared to remember her from one visit to the next, and merely growled like a cat over a mouse, Miss Villura could not help thinking, when Mrs. Van Duser drew his inscrutable gaze upon

herself with majestic words. You will remember my third cousin, Filiora Rice, Mortimer. I felt it was my duty to afford Filura the opportunity of attending the course of lectures on the proper attitude of the masses to the classes, which owing to other engagements I am unable to attend. So she had called her grey kitten Mortimer, in a spirit of uncharitable reprisal, made her positively afraid to say her prayers for two whole days. As for Mortimer, he had grown into a stately dignified personage of a cat, whose green eyes frequently assumed the veritable expression of the Boston millionaire, and Miss Fullura continued to call him Mortimer, as has been stated.

If Mortimer remembered how Miss Feliora used to arrange her hair, he made no response. Instead, he yawned discreetly, his pink tongue curling back between his cruel, sharp-pointed teeth like a leaf. I was a fright, Morty dear, quoth Miss Fuliora, waxing familiar and affectionate. I'm sure he never would have thought of loving me, with my hair combed back tight and done up in a hard knot. Mortimer turned his back upon his mistress and wound he. himself into a graceful coil of grey fur, breathing, selfish comfort. His opinion on the subjects of Miss Villura's coiffure, he kept to himself. If I hadn't found out, pursued Miss Fulura, her wistful eyes on the parsonage roof,

which peeped at her through a pair of dormer windows, about the encircling good, I should never, oh, she broke off with a little laugh, and here I am worrying. actually worrying about my wedding dress a brisk jingle of the feeble door-bell interrupted the little lady's further cogitations she hurried to answer it a becoming colour in her cheeks one could never tell when mr pettibone she hadn't been able yet to bring herself to call him silas might call but it wasn't the minister's tall figure which confronted her on the doorstep but a woman clad in a heavy woollen shawl she wore coarse blue mittens like those of a man and a wing of snowy hair folded her rough red cheeks on either side miss philura's colour faded a little as her eyes fell upon the quaint figure good morning huldah she said here's your butter miss said the woman thrusting a small package into miss filura's unwilling hand her black eyes snapped and she nodded her head vigorously it's good enough for queen victory if she was living to eat it and so i guess it's good enough for you but hold her quavered miss filiora i know it's good i never found fault with the butter miss philura bethought herself that she was

going to marry the minister and drew herself up with gracious dignity as she added your butter halter is excellent excellent but i have thought it best for my health to refrain from eating butter for the present the butter woman fixed her bright bird-like eyes upon miss philura butter's fattening she said at last fattening echoed miss philura weekly yes i suppose it is. You'd ought to eat it, pursued the bottlewoman. You'd ought to eat a good and plenty of it three times a day. She nodded at Miss Fulura, as if to defy her to prove the contrary. A delicate colour fluttered in Miss Fulura's cheeks. Then you think, she murmured. They like them fat, said the butterwoman, still defiant. Don't I know them? They like them round and plump and soft and smooth. I don't think I understand you, Holder, said Miss Fulura,

very dignified indeed, though still gracious. Ministers ain't no different from other men as I know of, insisted the butterwoman. She waved her hand conclusively. You ain't no fatter than that poker ma'am. It's quite fashionable to be slender, Holder, said Miss Fuliora almost piteously. She gazed sideways at the poker, standing stiffly beside the file as great, its brazen head reflecting the light in its polished surface. I should dislike to be really fat, you know. The butterwoman stood up with the air of one who has finished argument and downed dispute.

She drew from under her shawl a basket, and from the basket she produced and laid upon the table, each with a defiant thump, a plump chicken, a roll of butter and a dozen eggs in a paper bag now these ere things she said in a tone which brooked no denial i want you should eat don't you go to carry in broth to nobody nor yet the eggs nor yet the butter but hold her oh they look very nice but don't i know you're getting ready to be married and of course you don't think of nothing else morning noon and night i can't give you no silver spoons for a wedding present though land knows i'd like to with your mar buying butter and me for a matter of ten years steady and you never missin your half-pound a week since she was laid away eight years come april so if you'll take a pound or two from me it ought to be five at the very least for a wedding present why miss philiora's blue eyes filled with sudden tears oh how kind and good of you to have thought of it, Hald, "'Thank you a thousand times.' She took the butterwoman's toil-hardened hand in both her own,

and squeezed it gratefully. "'There, there! Ain't nothing with me churning twice in the week, and chickens fairly underfoot. I'm coming again, a week from today, and I want to see you a might heavier than you be now.' She felt Miss Fulura's fragile little arm, with an experienced thumb and finger, and eyed her appraisingly a matter of ten pounds wouldn't do no harm she murmured well my advice to you is lay a bed mornin's and eat as hearty as you can land i'd fatten you if i'd just have you under my eye for a while

she pinned her shawl together with an energetic stab of a black-headed pin when's the weddon she demanded roughly why we hope we expect it will be on thanksgiving day faltered miss filura trembling visibly in view of the near approach of her great happiness the butterwoman stared past the blushing wistful face on thanksgiving day she muttered on thanksgiving day perhaps you think it an odd day to be married on miss filiora's gentle voice went on but mr pettibone's congregation seemed to think that they ought all to be invited to the wedding. We should have liked it to be very quiet, but there was some feeling, Mr Pettibone says. So we thought, as the church would have to be opened and warmed on Thanksgiving day for the regular services, you know. Why, it might be as well to take advantage. The butterwoman did not appear to be listening. She fetched a great sigh and shook her broad shoulders. Oh, well, she said, there's no use to be harking back to what's past and gone,

but it's hard not to be doing it when the summer's over and gone, and naught remains but dead leaves blowing hither and yon. The cold weather seems to be setting in early this year, offered Miss Filiora vaguely. Her thoughts had reverted once more to the purple and black brocade, hanging in her wardrobe upstairs. The butter. The buttery, The Butterwoman was looking at her keenly. Her mouth puckered into a half-smile. Whatever you do, she said briskly, lay a bed and eat. Eat, hearty, betwixt now and Thanksgiving Day.

They ain't nothing he'll like so well. Miss Villiora looked puzzled. You mean, she began. The Butterwoman nodded. Her bright eyes half hid in wrinkles of mirth. They ain't a man living as likes to marry a living skeleton, no yet a bag of bones. They like him nice and fact, with which she darted down the steps,

climbed into her wagon and drove away before Miss Fullura had done blushing. End of Chapter 1 Chapter 2 of Miss Filura's Wedding gown by Florence Morse Kingsley. This Librevoct recording is in the public domain. All the world is said to love a lover, but there are ifs and butts and sundry exceptions to this as to every other sweeping statement of a more or less general truth. For example, Miss Elector Pratt, engaged in wringing out her dishcloth with hard

twists of her bony fingers, felt no soft emotions of affection welling up in her virgin bosom, as she caught sight of Filura Rice, hurrying past the house, her small figure bent against the roaring wind that swept the fallen leaves into miniature whirlpools and lashed the leafless branches overhead. Miss Fulura was clutching at her hat-brim with one shabbily-gloved hand, and it was this fact, simple and natural as it was, which brought Miss Pratt into the maternal presence, placidly engaged in knitting out of blue wool, what she was pleased to term a fascinator. The fascinator in question was intended for the sole use of elector, but the fact did not soften the asperity of that lady's tones, as she said, if there,

ain't filior a rice hanging on to that hat o'ern for dear life you don't say leicty observed mrs pratt to the busy tune of her needles well now i guess the winds are blown some this morning ain't it i've been listening to it roaring down the chimbley it reminds me of the day your par passed away mrs pratt was considered perversely charitable by her daughter, who was in the habit of telling everybody that Ma was failing right along, and that since her last annual attack of grief, she wasn't quite right in her mind. I'd laugh if those feathers of hers got carried away, said Mr. Lecter vindictively. It would serve her right. For getting the minister away from you, I suppose, said the old lady, but, Land, I don't think he'd have thought of such a thing as marrying you, electy. There you go again, Ma, cried Miss Pratt justly incensed. How many times have I got to tell you that I wouldn't marry Silas Pettibone?

Not if he was the last man on earth. Now you hear me, Mar Pratt. And don't you des to say anything like that, Miss Puffer, if she runs in, or to anybody else the idea mrs pratt was counting stitches knit ten pearl five she murmured did you say you was going down to the post-office daughter to get the best idea yes ma replied miss elector aware of the value of a change of thought if miss puffer or miss buckthorne come in tell him I won't be gone ten minutes. I'll bring you some peppermints if you... She had almost said, if you'll be good.

But a glance into the meek, softly wrinkled old face, deterred her somehow. Mother's awful contrarry lately, she cogitated as she hurried down the street, bent upon overtaking the wind-swept figure of Miss Fulura. Oh, she's going to the store. said miss pratt under her breath and she hurried faster than before just why she so strongly desired to see with her own eyes what filiora rice was about to purchase at george trimmer's dry goods emporium doubtless with a view to her approaching marriage elector pratt could not possibly have told but the desire was there and it urged her on however she was doomed to disappointment miss philura emerged from the shop just as her friend miss pratt came abreast of it serene and smiling and carrying in one hand a small a very small parcel good morning electa was miss philura's greeting but she seemed disposed to hurry away in the opposite direction miss pratt linked herself to the bride-elect with prompt decision my i haven't seen you for an age she began i've been over to your house twice lately when I was most sure you was home and rang and rang miss fullura blushed

guiltily on one of those occasions she and mr pettibone had been snugly ensconced behind the geraniums in her little parlour and mr pettibone had she blushed a deeper pink to think of it merely tightened the clasp of his arm about her waist and remarked it's elector pratt we don't want to see her let her ring it had seemed almost irreligious to miss fulliura never in her life had she dared to disobey that peremptory summons but she had sat quite still while the bell jangled spitefully under elector's determined hand i was most sure i saw the minister go into your house not ten minutes before went on miss Pratt i was over to miss buckthorns and we both saw him murmured miss fullura or perhaps perhaps my doorbell you needn't bother to tell another lie to me forlora rice intoned miss Pratt another what do you mean elector i never said one word about it to you before said miss Pratt firmly but i'm going to you mean going to now do you remember telling me you was engaged to be married last spring just after you came back from visiting your relations in boston miss philura drew a deep sigh i would rather not talk about it elector i you wouldn't understand oh wouldn't i retorted miss pratt well i can try anyhow

We was coming out of church. It was the Sunday you first come out in that new suit of yours and that hat with feathers. I shouldn't think you'd want to wear them out in a wind like this. They look all frazzled out. Miss Fullura straightened herself. If these feathers are spoiled, I can have others, she said. Miss Pratt cackled derision. That's just the way you taught before, she said.

I says to you, everybody says, you've had money left to you and that you're going to get married i says and you says i've got all the money i need you says and i'm engaged to be married miss phileura's blue eyes gazed almost defiantly into elector pratt's green ones well she said i know i said it it was true every word true a singular radiance overspread her delicate face transfigure it for a moment into beauty do you mean to tell me you was engaged to be married to mr pettibone when you said that to me philiora rice be careful you went to see mr pettibone afterward and told him what i said returned miss philura unexpectedly and he he said it wasn't so miss pratt threw up her chin aggressively and what's more your cousin van duser said it wasn't so she said you didn't have any money left you and that you weren't going to be married so there miss philura pondered her eyes upon the small paper parcel in her hand then she turned suddenly almost breathlessly upon the spinster whose attitude and expression reminded her irresistibly of mortimus at the moment of pouncing upon an unlucky mouse elect her she said said tremulously. You aren't very happy, are you? Happy?

Houghed Miss Pratt. Happy, me? I'd like to know what that's got to do with your telling me. It's got everything to do with it, said Miss Fulura, if you'd only understand. But I'm afraid you wouldn't, even if I... That's the second time you've said that, remarked Miss Pratt acidly, when it comes to understanding i guess i'm pretty near as smart as some other folks i could mention oh i know i'm not clever at all elector i didn't mean that

well what did you mean i'd really like to hear what you got to say for yourself and i ain't the only one you'll find there's plenty of folks that's as much in the darks as i be the cat-like gleam in miss pratt's eyes was long as lost on miss flora who was wondering if she ought to lay bare the wonderful secret which she bore about enshrined in her inmost heart like a jewel of price after all was not electa like her lonely unhappy self of half a year ago and had she any right to withhold the certainty of happiness from elector miss pratt licked her lips don't hesitate to speak right out filura she said acidly how anybody had dare to say they was engaged before the man proposed is what beats me miss felura was gazing at her parcel it was because because he was in the encircling good elector i knew i was going to be married because i believed but i didn't i didn't know miss pratt stared he was in the what she demanded what in the world are you talking about miss flora experienced a wild desire to run away some other time elector she murmured if you could only hear mrs smart lecture you might do that you know i can't explain if you don't want me to think you're raving crazy filura rice you'll explain as you call it this minute miss philura turned her face away from her inquisitor it appeared more and more impossible to tell elector pratt about the all and circled

and good and yet it was her duty she had been brought face to face with it she was almost ashamed to remember at that moment a verse about pearls and swine you are not one acquires the habit of thinking aloud during years of solitude she had almost said you are not a swine elector i'm nobody's fool if that's what you mean for Miss Pratt observed oppositely. I know you're not, Elector. Miss Filura agreed eagerly, and then she gathered courage. When I was in Boston, I went with Cousin Caroline Van Duser to hear a lecture at the ontological club,

and, sniffed Miss Pratt. It was all about the encircling good. God. All is God and God is all, quoted Miss Fulura. I had never thought of something. such a thing, Elector. It always seemed to me God was up high somewhere and that he was always displeased with everything I did. But in the lecture, I found out that I was mistaken. God is so kind, so generous. If we just ask him for what we want and then believe that we have, why,

it is ours already. And you believed all that stuff in your arrival? and you a church member? It's in the Bible, said Miss Fullura stoutly. It's true. All true. Miss Pratt was engaged in the purely rational process of putting two and two together. She arrived presently at the correct result. I begin to see, she observed with carefully availed sarcasm.

You thought you'd like something. some fine new clothes and a husband so you oh elector i'm so glad i told you you do understand don't you it's so beautiful so wonderful miss pratt snorted with mingled rage and amazement quite wonderful i should remark and so simple but i don't see yet how you caught the parson. Miss Villura looked up swiftly. You're making fun of God, she said brokenly. Oh, I wish I hadn't told you. Miss Pratt burst into a short, dry laugh.

I never heard a such nonsense in all my life, she cried. It's downright wicked, that's what it is. You ought to be put out of the church instead of setting up as a minister's wife, the idea of talking such stuff and actually believe in it. It's in the Bible, said Miss Fuliora weekly,

and the wind snatched the words and carried them away like dead leaves. There's nothing about silk petticoats and our stretch feathers and getting engaged in my Bible, retorted Miss Pratt, her reddened nose uplifted, in chaste protest to an outraged heaven. I'm sure I don't know

what Elder Trimmer and Deacon Scrimge and Miss Deaconess Buckthorn and... Oh, I was going to say our pastor. Does he know what you heard in that wicked club? Miss Filiora was not a very astute person, but for once she couldn't help seeing the drift of Elector Pratt's remarks. Mr Pettibone, she said firmly, is not in any way responsible for my interpretations of the bible then having reached her own corner she parted from miss pratt with an air of dignity and decision which only partly hid her real perturbation of spirit

the grey cat mortimer arose from the doorstep where he had been awaiting her return and stretched his sinewy fur-clad limbs his green eyes grew greedily wide as he spied the parcel in his mistress's hand. Oh no, Morty dear, said Miss Filiora. It isn't meat. Then her anxious face brightened, as she remembered the plump chicken, the eggs and butter reposing in the kitchen cupboard. It was only yesterday, she murmured, that I was wondering, no, thinking about our dinner, Morty,

and I mentioned it to God. just mentioned it because you know our father knoweth we have need of all these things she lifted the big cat in her thin little arms you shall have a chicken wing to-day morty she whispered in his furry ear mortimer purred loudly quite as if he understood then it was that miss philura noticed the bunch of white chrysanthemums laid against the door she lifted them a wistful pink staining her cheeks. Nowhere except in the parsonage gardens did chrysanthemums grow in such snowy perfection. He has been here, was her unspoken thought, a swift wonder crowding her regret, as she remembered that it was Saturday,

a day the minister always spent alone in his study. When she had arranged her flowers in water, she sat down by the table and gazed at the table, and gazed at them almost breathlessly. No one in Innesfield, not even the minister, suspected the shy, still current of poetic feeling

in Miss Faluura's nature. She couldn't possibly have put it into words, but something in the ivory white of the curving petals lapped softly one above the other, hiding a heart of gold, spoke to her of herself. All summer long,

while Rose and Hollyhock and a host of lesser blooms that flaunted gaily in the sunshine the chrysanthemums had spread their dark foliage in an obscure corner with no hint of bloom but now she leaned forward and touched the flowers with her lips they are beautiful even if it is almost winter she murmured

then she opened the paper bag she had brought from the trimmer emporium and took out four spools of white silk thread and set them in a row before the flowers. Why shouldn't I? she asked of the surrounding silence. Then diligently, like the woman in the parable, she searched the nooks and corners of her memory for the exact words she had heard at the ontological club. The unseen good surrounds us on every. every side she said aloud it presses upon us more limitless more inexhaustible than the air we breathe in the encircling good is already provided a lavish abundance a lavish abundance miss villura paused to take breath of everything one can possibly want desire itself is god good love knocking at the door of your understanding it is impossible for you to desire anything that is not already your own.

Yet like every other wondrous mystery in all the world, this unseen abundance, this all-en circling good, must be sought in the right way. It was a magic door, requiring the magic key for its unlocking. Miss Fulura gazed at the four white spools, and the white flowers so lately emerged from the unseen into exquisite visibility oh god she prayed i should like a white wedding dress white like the chrysanthemums and after a breathless little pause she added thank you god with closed eyes she beheld the as yet invisible wedding garment white with the creamy whiteness of flower petals closed closing softly over a heart of gold very simple it was yet rich and smooth textured like the blossoms that come just before the snow

that evening when the reverend silas pettibone having conscientiously completed two discourses treating respectively of sanctification by faith and the state of the lost after death came to call upon miss filiora as was his right and privilege he found that little lady deep in the task of ripping the black and purple gown um what do you intend to do with that um brocade asked mr pettibone searching successfully in a disused corner of his theological mind for a proper name for the stuff which lay in heavy folds across miss philura's lap the reverend silas pettibone had kind though very tired looking brown eyes and the dark hair above his forehead was streaked with grey. Miss Fulura secretly considered him the very acme of masculine good looks. A hint of her opinion shone in her demure face as she made answer. Cousin van Duser sent it to me for a wedding dress. Do you think it pretty?

Mr Pettibone surveyed the stuff with a new interest. He took a fold of it between an inexperienced, finger and thumb it appears he said cautiously to be very durable oh yes agreed miss fulliura i think it will wear for a long time and it's lined with beautiful black taffeta i can make two dresses and a coat out of it hummed the minister noncommittally gazing at the large black leaves on their purple background and striving is in his imperfect masculine way to picture to himself a small figure of miss philura panopled in such a vesture it was very very kind of mrs van deuser to provide for the he began in somewhat laboured fashion but miss philura interrupted him do you think it is pretty she demanded her head on one side an unsuspected ghost of a dimple peeping at him from one corner of her lips does it look like me mr pettibone gazed tranquilly at miss filura he thought her very sweet and good and he was glad she was coming to live in the desolate parsonage

gladder indeed than he had ever hoped to be in his bereaved life does it repeated miss foliura how inquired the minister with his deep wise smile could any sort of a gown look like you he paused to survey once more mrs van dews's outworn gown so munificently bestowed upon the dearest little woman in the world then he smote his knee with a convincing gesture certainly not he said decidedly by no means it is too dark and heavy and no i don't like it he looked appealingly at miss fulliura what did she want him to say he wondered and had he blundered into the wrong thing i confess my opinion in matters of woman's dress is a very little value, he began apologetically, perhaps now, Miss Felura had dropped her shining scissors in her lap. Do you know, she said, with the air of one who has just made a delightful discovery. That is exactly what I thought about it. I couldn't bear black and purple for a wedding dress. Though I dare say, I shan't mind wearing it to church and ladies' aid afterwards.

she blushed a delicious maidenly blush under his observant eyes then she leaned forward and touched his hand i want to ask you she said breathlessly do you think god is interested in clothes end of chapter two chapters three and four of miss philura's wedding-gown by florence morse kingsley miss librivox recording is in the public domain chapter three mr pettibone gazed at miss philura in puzzled silence for the space of a minute the under-shepard of the innisfield presbyterian church as mrs van duser had once called him was not blessed with a very keen sense of humour He strove unsuccessfully to imagine the theological concept of deity to which he had been taught to pray in carefully constructed sentences as interested in the black and purple brocade. He shook his head. Then he took Miss Felura's toil-worn hand in his own and patted it gently. Do I think God is interested in clothes? he repeated. Why, really?

Somehow or other, a certain pregnant saying concerning a millstone and the deep sea flashed across his troubled mind. Our Lord, in his various discourses, certainly mentioned garments more than once, he went on presently. Miss Villure's blue eyes sparkled. I knew you'd say so, she murmured happily.

Oh, the wedding garment. in the parable pursued the minister, referring to his mental concordance of scripture texts, the robe of state which was brought forth for the returned prodigal, and the lilies of the field, suggested Miss Villura timidly. Jesus said that even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. She glanced sideways at the chrysanthemums, which glistened in their bridal snows beneath the yellow light of the,

the lamp. True, said the minister. He gazed thoughtfully at the rather shabby clothes he was wearing. There were his preaching clothes three years before last. Mr. Pettibone always wore preaching clothes of different degrees of shabbiness, for the very good reason that he could afford no others. He even wore a very ancient and disreputable long-tailed frock-coat and black trousers, dating back into obscurity when working about the garden and in the cellar. He called these garments his working togs and wore them cheerfully.

But down deep in some half-smothered bit of consciousness lurked a carnal weakness for masculine purple and fine linen. He had once met an eminent Boston Divine clad in a worldly suit of tweeds, enlivened still further by a cravat of d'et of d'et deep red. Mr. Pettibone attired as usual in his third best preaching clothes, devoted to pastoral calls and other weekday duties, was conscious of an almost sinful admiration of Dr. Bentley's spruce person,

though he told himself that he could never approve worldliness and the appearance of pomp and fashion in a man of God. That expression, a man of God, had taken great hold upon Silas pettibone from his youth up almost unconsciously he had pictured this ideal personage as solemnly and decorously attired in more or less rusty black of the long-tailed variety true said the minister after mentally reviewing his wardrobe filled with graded suits of ministerial cut and then he sighed solomon in all his glory must have had some splendid clothes continued Miss Fuliora, taking up her scissors again to attack a long seam of the black and purple dress. Red, maybe, and pink, and blue and white. Her brown hair drooped over the sombre stuff she was ripping. She didn't even glance at Mr Pettibone's third best preaching suit.

And Jesus said, went on the hesitating sweet voice. he said how much more shall he clothe you oh ye of little faith added the minister finishing the quotation almost mechanically and from force of habit and that must mean that if we only had faith enough god would give us all the clothes we needed cried miss philiora jubilantly well quite possibly admitted the minister pretty a clothes than solomon's persisted miss phileura casting a black and purple strip upon the floor because you know lilies of the field are more beautiful than silk or satin and so inferred the minister logically you don't intend to wear a dress of this material on the occasion of our marriage and he waved a rhetorical hand towards the crumpled heap to which mrs jay mortimer vanjouza's erstwhile robe of state had become reduced miss philura looked up at him shyly he was smiling at her almost humorously oh no she said with the girlish blush he had noticed before flitting across her face and what then is the wedding garment to be pursued the minister if i am not overstepping the bounds to inquire she paused hesitated and then bent towards him almost beseechingly you don't think i'm too old to wear white too old repeated the minister wonderingly it was impossible to think of little miss filura as of anything which the passing years had used unkindly you are not too old he said with decision to wear any beautiful robe and you never will be

"'Elector Pratt will say I am,' murmured Miss Filiora with a suppressed sigh. "'And so I'm afraid will everybody else. "'But if you don't think so, "'I shall love to see you in a white dress,' he assured her quietly. "'It will be,' he added firmly, entirely suitable and becoming. "'Eend of chapter three.' chapter four out of the mouths of babes quoted the reverend silas pettibone to himself as he walked home beneath the mild radiance of the stars he was referring to miss philura a babe in christ as he scripturally termed her surely no grown man or woman of his acquaintance possessed so rare and simple a faith miss philura he told himself with a pleasant feeling of war

about a heart chilled with loneliness and his own stern concepts of the dealings of what he was pleased to term divine providence miss philura is one woman in ten thousand and altogether lovely mr pettibone found himself thinking of miss philura's wedding gown with pardonable enthusiasm he was glad it was to be white white he told himself was the one proper garb for so fair so pure so sweet a woman angels wore white continuously he had been led to believe then quite simply and gravely even in his thoughts this good man was always simple and grave he thought of his dead wife she had been gone from him many years and a wreath of memories lay against the closed door in his heart which bore the name mary it was another life he looked back upon from this crest of the years he saw himself as he had been in those first years of his ministry and mary no he hadn't forgotten he could never forget but the road was long

and very very lonely surely she would not grudge him the solace of companionship she who was safe folded behind the jasper walls of a distant paradise the parsonage gate clanged behind him. Deacon Scrimger's dog barked vociferously from his kennel. The minister, pausing upon his own doorstep, looked up into the sky, sparkling with stars between the leafless branches of the elms. I hope I'm doing right, he murmured humbly. We're both alone, you know. In the bright light of morning, streaming through the windows of his study, the Reverend Silas pettibone changed the subject of his evening discourse to the state of the saved after death his morning sermon on sanctification by faith took on a practical turn which astonished the members of his congregation

miss filura still pilloried in the singer's seat behind the pulpit listened with a secret rapture which she was not altogether successful in hiding she could not help hearing the stealthy rustle of electorate taffat to petticoat beside her it was a disapproving russell she felt so was the lavish display of a highly centred pocket-handkerchief with which miss pratt chafed the tip of her reddened nose the nox's nose always reddened when she was angry like the wattles of a turkey sounds to me like christian science was miss pratt's biting comment as the two ladies descended from the quia loft the idea of telling about a man's asking the law for a barrel of potatoes you needn't tell me you haven't been trying to fill him up with the stuff you heard in boston it's in the bible said miss filura tremulously filura rice you know very well the word potato isn't in the bible at all how dare you say such a thing i didn't mean potatoes i meant faith that's in the bible and it's it well it's four potatoes or anything people need oh yes and feathers and clothes and engagement rings maybe scoffed miss pratt who had of late observed the glitter of a modest ring on miss philura's finger

good morning elector good morning folura intoned a majestic voice are you discussing the sermon it will bear discussion it seems to me miss philura glanced up into the forbidding eyes of the tall massive lady who had joined them at the foot of the stair good morning mrs buckthorne she said weakly yes what did you think of it chimed in miss pratt i was just telling philura i thought it sounded like christian science but of course filiora oh i trust not exclaimed mrs buckthorn wagging her head which was surmounted by a lofty structure of black and white pinnacled by a tuft of dispirited-looking feathers she had the air of one who successfully denies the world the flesh and the devil christian science my dear elector is neither christian nor scientific as i have always said really it frightens me to hear you mention it in connection with our pastor no no Mrs. Buckthorne shook her head with closed eyes. And presently she opened them with a snap. I was grieved to hear that you've been drawn away from the truth of late,

Filura. Miss Filura's lips parted, but she didn't speak. Instead, she glanced reproachfully at Elector Pratt. You've been in my Sabbath school class for more than ten years, Fulura, pursued Mrs. Buckthorn, and I am sure you never learn to pray for silk petticoats from me. No, at Mrs. Fulura, I never did. I've invited the minister to dinner today

for the express purpose of holding holy converse on the subject of this morning's sermon, Mrs. Buckthorn said mournfully. We should not forget that there is a great gulf fixed between the church and the world. I shall pray, for you, Filura. Oh, thank you, murmured Miss Filiora in a small, faint voice.

Whom the Lord loveth? He chasteneth, quoted Mrs. Buckthorn, sourly. I fear you have not been under the rod of late, judging from what I hear. The lady closed her eyes, and drew a siphonant sigh from the depths of her being. Pilgrims in this veil of tears should not indulge, pleasure she said in a hollow voice nor follow the foolish and fleeting fashions of worldling miss philura could not help noticing that mrs buckthorn's silk gown while cut after a fashion entirely unbecoming to her stout figure made undoubt concessions to the prevailing mould what do you propose to be married in inquired mrs buckthorn in in a hollow tone my wedding dress is to be white said miss filioro almost defiantly white echoed mrs buckthorne in an unbelieving tone oh surely not white whites cried miss elector pratt oh well i declare and then she giggled disagreeably i suppose you'll wear a veil and carry a shower bouquet

miss filura reflected a moment no i think not she said calmly i shall wear chrysanthemums white ones mrs buckthorn shook her head oh think better of it filura she advised compassionately at your time of life oh yes marian a widower at that shrilled miss electra my i wouldn't think of such a thing for a moment A nice drab alpaca, said Mrs. Buckthorne antiphanyly. Trimmed with bias folds, added Miss Pratt. Mrs. Buckthorne nodded approval. Bias folds are always in good taste. You will be glad you took my advice later on. Whereat Miss Electa laughed aloud, and Mrs. Buckthor looked shocked.

You should remember where you are, my ear. dear elector she chided filura never takes anybody's advice sniffed miss pratt i had to laugh at the very idea then she'll never do for a minister's wife was mrs buckthorn's well-founded opinion but miss philura had drawn her skirts away from the rain-washed steps and was literally fleeing from the wrath to come that afternoon when the reverend and Mr Pettibone had, with difficulty, escaped from the heart-to-heart conversation, which followed what was known as our Sabbath repast in the Buckththorn family, and which invariably consisted of cold-roast mutton and pallid pie, flanked by pickles of an exceedingly acid sort, the reverend gentleman was in a particularly thoughtful frame of mind.

It had been borne in upon him that in marrying Miss Fulura, he was not merely securing to himself a help meet to companion his solitude, but also, and more particularly, he was providing his parish with that useful, indeed almost indispensable adjunct, a minister's wife. We've been hoping that you'd marry again, Mr. Petty Bone, said Mrs. Buckthorne, but I confess that I was never more surprised than when I heard of your engagement too failure a rice. Oh, hmm, murmured the minister noncommittally.

Well, if it had been electorpratt now, she's such a capable person, or the widow green, she's very pious, and could lead the female prayer matings. But, forlura, as I told Mr. Buckthorn, you could have not be over with a feather. this in view of mrs buckthorn's massive proportions was a forceful statement the minister showed his appreciation of it by moving uneasily in his chair and by the quick nervous gesture with which he rumpled his iron-gray hair oh really he murmured vaguely and then as mrs buckthorn still regarded him fixedly in obvious expectation of a reply he expressed himself in handsome terms as being grateful for his parishioners kind interest in his welfare but i think you will find the future mrs pettibone quite equal to any duties which may fall to her lot he concluded forcefully mrs buckthorn hoped so with the air and manner of a person who expresses belief in the millennium it was shortly after this that the minister had taken leave of his hostess with a dignity and decision which admitted of no further conversation mrs buckthorn had indeed followed him quite to the verge of the threshold intending to express her views on the subject of the wedding but mr pettibone had taken his hat from the rack

had put it on his head and was half way down the front walk before the excellent lady had time to more than mention the all-important subject of miss filura's wedding dress which burned for eloquent utterance oh yes yes indeed the minister had said hastily verbum sap you know thank you very much good-bye what on earth did he mean by mentioning sap to me i'd like to know. Mrs. Buckthorne inquired acidly of her spouse who was, as might have been expected, a small, meek, and generally voiceless person. Sapp?

echoed Mr. Buckthorn, blinking pacifically at his consort. Sap? Well, now, I've heard of such a thing as a saphead. Maybe he meant Benjamin Buckthorn, intoned the lady. Do you suppose for a minute,

that any man would dare to apply such an epithet to me oh no no lizzie course not i only started to say but mr buckthorne rarely finished what he had to say he did not on this occasion for usual and entirely sufficient reasons mr pettibone by now arrived at the parsonage did not at once apply himself to meditations soon to the further development of his evening's discourse instead he walked about the ministerial domicile gazing at all that he saw with unaccustomed eyes his recent conversation with miss philura on the subject of the wedding dress added to mrs buckthorn's pungent remarks of the afternoon had served to bring the fact of his approaching nuptials very clearly before mr pettibone's mind it had seemed a very simple and natural arrangement to the minister two lonely persons living here to-for under two roofs would henceforth dwell under one to the great comfort and mutual advantage of the lonely persons it was apparent even to the minister that to miss filura the change was to be a very grave one she would be ruthlessly uprooted from the quiet nook where she had dwelt as unobserved as a violet under relief and set in the lye full glare of a public opinion more pitiless and scorching than the fiery eye of the sun in midsummer he wondered if miss philura realized this as he was beginning to do he wondered too if he would be able to shelter her from the harsh criticisms which he foresaw would fall to her lot could he solace her bruised spirit was it in short going to be worth while for miss

the minister was a modest man and quite unaware as yet of the real state of miss filura's sentiments towards himself so he passed a very bad quarter of an hour during which he arraigned himself severely for a variety of misdeeds and shortcomings chief among which was his own carnal selfishness in venturing to covet miss philura's affections and the solace of her companionship such meditations are apt to be short-lived with the most altruistic of mankind in the end the rev silas pettibone by a series of logical arguments had succeeded in convincing himself of the truth namely that miss philura needed him as much as he needed her also he metaphorically snapped his fingers in the general direction of elector pratt the widow green and mrs deaconess buckthorne he silas pettibone was the pastor of the innisfield presbyterian church and he meant to perform the duties of his position in the future as in the past with unswerving fidelity not to say painful conscientiousness but and he smote the blotting pad on his study table with forensic force and suddenness he was also a man and entitled by all the primal prerogatives of his sex to select his own mate mentally he defied the ladies aid society the session of the church the parish and the world at large singly and collectively he would wed miss filura and defend her peace and happiness against all comers having arrived at this soul satisfying conclusion the minister arose from his chair and again began pacing the floor what a wonderful little woman miss filura was he always called her

Miss Fullura in his musings, and how illuminating were her interpretations of scripture. Really, he had never adequately appreciated the matter of King Solomon's apparel. He allowed his mind to wander vaguely among the presumably gorgeous vestments of that long defunct monarch. Pink, she had specified, and red and gold and blue. Undoubtedly, she was right. And he sighed as he recalled the men. many well-worn long-tailed frock-coats which constituted his own wardrobe then quite naturally it would seem he began to take dubious note of the condition of the room in which he had passed so many studious hours it was come to look at it in the strong afternoon light an exceedingly shabby place the wall-paper for example mr pettibone jerked the window-shades to the top of the casement with an impatient hand really he murmured i didn't realise how dilapidated everything is he recalled now that jane stiles his housekeeper had drawn his attention to the roof of the back kitchen

which leaped all over her clean floor every time it rained and to the lack of paint on the kitchen cupboards he had mentioned the subject of necessary repairs on the parsonage to elder trimmer the president of the board of trustees and had been told that lack of funds would prevent any expenditures of the sort he had told jane stiles of this adverse decision and she had sniffed a comprehensive disbelief i guess they'll find their parsonage a tumbling about their ears if they leave it be long enough was her unasked opinion mr pettibone making a leisurely survey of the ministerial residence on this occasion was for to concur in miss stiles's verdict the parsonage needed fresh paint paper and plenishings mr pettibone recalled once more miss philura's unquestioning faith in the all encircling good mr pettibone's god while not far off had never appeared to him to be closer than breathing and nearer than hands or feet he thought of his god habitually as inhabiting eternity which he conceived to be a state very far removed from earthly life it had appeared a species of irreligion to acquaint this exalted deity with any of the sordid details of one's pilgrimage through a veil of tears the state of one's individual soul and the souls of the parish had lain heavily on mr pettibone's heart so had the condition of the heathen in foreign lands he frequently besought his god with eloquence and fervour in behalf of the president of the united states and for all legislative bodies now convened but it had not heretofore occurred to him to mention before what he habitually alluded to as the throne of grace

the arrears in his salary his pressing need of a new preaching suit or the dilapidated condition of the parsonage he dropped into his study-chair and opened his bible ye have not because ye ask not stared at him accusingly from the page end of chapter four chapter five of miss philura's wedding-gown by florence morse kingsley miss librivox recording is in the public domain mr george trimmer known on week-days and in secular circles as the proprietor of trimmer's dry goods emporium and on sundays and prayer-meeting evening evenings as our good brother elder Trimmer, was actively engaged in the Emporium on the Monday morning immediately ensuing. The business being ordinarily small, since most of the Innes Field ladies

after the immemorial custom of suburbanites did their shopping in Boston, Mr Trimmer employed but one assistant, except at the holiday season, when the trade became brisker. In view of what Mr. Trimmer characterized as the Christmas rush, he had engaged and was now duly in,

instructing a new clerk. This young man had come from Boston, bringing excellent testimonials as to his general good character and ability. He was a very personable young fellow, and his alert good looks were set off by a smart business suit. He had said that his name was Milton Gregory, this Mr Trimmer promptly shortened to Milt,

as being a more convenient form of address, as well as marking the subordinate position of the fashionably dress. young man. Mr Trimmer was of two minds regarding his clerk. His general get-up put his employer's baggy old clothes to the blush, if such an expression may be applied to the worn and ancient garb affected by Mr. Trimmer on weekdays. On the other hand, the smart young man would advertise his business and attract trade. There would be a general desire on the part of the young women of Innesfield

to buy a yard of ribbon or a skein of broidery silk, Mr Trimmer shrewdly opined. But he intended, as he told himself, to put the dude's nose right down on the grindstone, and he was busy with this attractive programme when the door of the shop opened, and the Reverend Mr. Pettibone came in. The preliminary greetings over,

Mr. Pettibone entered at once upon the business which had brought him to the Trimmer Emporium. He first purchased three people, pairs of black cotton socks with white feet and a washable cravat of the sort he always wore. While Mr Trimmer was wrapping up these purchases with his customary show of goodwill, which, after all, costs nothing and often helps trade, Mr Pettibone cleared his throat rather nervously. I wanted to have a word with you, Brother Trimmer, he began.

Certainly, certainly, permitted Brother Trimmer, but his mouth tightened. You may recall that I spoke to you some weeks ago with regard to necessary repairs upon the parsonage? Mm, murmured Mr Trimmer, and I told you. You said, as treasurer of the Board of Trustees, that there were no funds. Exactly, smiled Mr Trimmer. No funds. He shook his head. Sorry, but can't be helped, you know.

That's precisely what I wished. to inquire into. As you are aware, my salary is behind, and the arrears increase rather than diminish each year. There is now something like five hundred dollars owing to me. Oh my, my, I hope not, deprecated Mr. Trimmer, looking past the minister out of the window. Five hundred dollars sounds pretty big. It does to me, admitted the minister ruefully. I haven't urged the matter because I've been quite alone in the world, and my expenses are not large, but Mr Trimmer cough deprecatingly. A thrifty wife is from the Lord, he misquoted.

She'll save you quite a bit of money in the long run, Miss Fullura's economical. She's had to be. The minister stiffened slightly. It was not to discuss my future household affairs that I came to see you, he said. though i shall not attempt to deny that in view of my approaching marriage i must insist upon having all arrears of salary paid in full and as for the parsonage let me urge you the advisability of appointing a committee to look to property over it is certainly false economy to permit the house to fall into complete ruin for lack of proper and necessary repairs the minister spoke with warmth brother trimmer opposed his pastor's eager look and gesture with a stony calm insist he inquired with uplifted brows i believe you said i did say insist and why not don't you insist when people owe you money which they can but won't pay mr trimmer was secretly astonished by the vehemence of the minister's tone moreover he considered heat and temper entirely unbecoming in a man of god such as he conceived the reverend and silas pettibone to be

a minister of the gospel he said sourly will hardly apply the hard and fast rules of the business world to the stipend he receives as a free-will offering from the church but my salary isn't a free-will offer "'contradicted Mr. Pettibone. "'It is a regular, stated amount "'offered by the church and accepted by myself "'when I became the pastor of this church. "'Do you think you can collect the amount due to me "'by Saturday evening?' "'Elder trimmer could hardly believe his ears.

"'He shook his head with a sniff of derision. "'Can't be done,' he said, "'with more sharpness than he was in the habit "'of using towards his cash customers. "'No, indeed. sorry, but it's impossible. With God, all things are possible, quoted the minister, with just a shade of significant emphasis on the introductory preposition.

Mr Trimmer shifted from his left foot to his right and then back again. He was growing impatient. But not with man, he said dryly. We ain't got the money, and that's all there is about it. But his eyes avoided the minister's gay. won't you try to get it you mean collect hey couldn't do it no certain not at this season of the year christmas you know folks won't pay up back pew rents at christmas couldn't expect it the minister slowly drew on his gloves and reached for his parcel i've been to see deacon's scrimgeer he observed mildly mr trimmer tightened his tight smile I guess he didn't tell you nothing different.

No, and he said furthermore that if any effort was made to collect pledges and pure-rents, people would go to the Methodist Church rather than pay up. I guess that's straight goods, agreed Mr. Trimmer appropriately. I also interviewed some of the ladies of the congregation, Mrs. Buckthorn and Miss Day, and what did they say? Oh, they agreed with you, in thinking the Christmas season a bad one

for attempting to make any collections. Mrs. Buckthorne proposed giving a donation party at the Parsonage the Friday following the week of prayer. That might be done, approved Mr Trimmer, brings the young folks together, provides a pleasant social occasion. I'll vote for that. But I won't, said the minister, decided. I don't approve of donations.

I refuse absolutely. And I told the lady so. Well, then, I guess. It is evident to me, the minister went on, ignoring Mr. Trimmer's obvious conclusion, that this church is in a very bad way. A very bad way. It is in an insolvent condition,

and its leading members and officers refused to take proper steps to pay their honest debts. This, I consider even more alarming than the debt itself. I shall take steps. What? Interjected Mr Trimmer. I blame myself for permitting the Lord's business to fall into such confusion, continued the minister earnestly.

I even conceived that I was doing you all a kindness in permitting my salary to go unpaid. I had thought of, cancelling the debt, and thus contributing, to be exact, the sum of $497.50 towards my own support. Well, if you'd do that, maybe we could manage to paper the parlour and fix the kitchen roof, suggested Mr Trimmer.

We should appreciate it very much. Yes, indeed. But I'm not going to do it, the minister spoke sternly. The Lord has shown me my duty. Unless half the amount due me is paid to me by Saturday night of this week, I shall be compelled to lay the matter before presbytery. I shall also ask you to read a full report on Sunday, and immediately thereafter call a special meeting for prayer.

Ye have not, because ye ask not. This church must humble itself before God. It must beg forgiveness for its shortcomings. It must pay its debts. Elder Trimmer's jaw fell. wait till the week of prayer he begged it would it would hurt business it would indeed just at the christmas season man man cried the minister have you forgotten what we celebrate at the christmas season then abruptly he turned and went out mr trimmer roused from a state bordering on stupefaction to find his newly engaged clerk at his elbow say but he's armour exclaimed the young man you'll have to get busy mr trimmer or he'll show you up in great shape if you don't mind i'd like to subscribe my first month's salary to the fund you ain't earned it yet snapped mr tremmer and there ain't no fund

End of Chapter 5 Chapter 6 of Miss Fulura's Wedding-Gown by Florence Morse Kingsley. This Librevox recording is in the public domain. Miss Malvina Bennett paused in the act of sweeping her front stoop to look about her. Miss Bennett's moments in the open air were few, because she was nearly always bending over her sewing, near the draughty little window of the front room upstairs. A damp snow had fallen during the night,

clinging wherever it touched, so that the world at which Miss Bennet gazed with faded, lackluster eyes, was curiously transformed. Every tree and bush appeared loaded with white blossoms, and a pink sun struggling through a veil of light grey clouds shone faint and marvellous between the snowy branches. My, he murmured Miss Bennett, it certainly is handsome. Then she pulled a little knitted shawl closer about her head, and shoulders and resumed her sweeping. A pile of unfinished garments awaited her busy needle,

and she must not waste time in gazing at the winter miracle. As she was bestowing a final flap upon the broom, preparatory to entering the house, she saw a small figure coming towards her across the vacant lot. The pink sun had climbed higher by now, and the tall jewelled weeds on each side of the narrow, deep-trodden path blazed with sudden spend, of blue and scarlet and fiery rose.

I thought was you, Filura, said Miss Bennet, as a hurrying figure drew near. My eyesight's getting so poor lately. I can't hardly see anybody at a distance. I want to look over your fashion books, Malvina, Miss Filura said, and see if I can get some ideas. I caught all the December magazines, Miss Bennett told her eagerly. Come right in and I'll get them all out for you.

As they went upstairs together, Miss Bennet said, I guess you've heard me speak of my sister-in-law's niece, Genevieve Parsons. Her folks live in Boston. She's a sweet, pretty girl and a real neat sewer. She's staying with me for a while. She threw open the door of the sewing room, and Miss Villure saw a young girl seated by the window. Her blonde head drooped over the unfinished garment in her lap.

For goodness sake, Genevieve! ejaculated Miss Bennet. You ain't trying to put them milliners' fold on that waste of Miss Days, are you? I wouldn't dare to trust the angel Gabriel were them foals, and Miss Day that fussy in particular. Thus rebuked, the girl meekly yielded the black waist. I thought you said I was to do it.

There was a dreary note in her young voice. Miss Filiora noticed that the girl's eyelids were slightly resin, as if from recent tears. but she smiled pleasantly when miss bennet made them acquainted miss villiour is going to marry the minister explained miss bennet briskly and she wants to look over the fashion-books the girl glanced at miss filura from under her long lashes there was a naive curiosity and wonderment in her brown eyes why she was asking herself with a kind of youthful arrogance should any one so small and faded as miss filura care about fashions and how extra ordinary to think she was going to be married. The girl sighed deeply. She was tall and held herself stiffly,

as if not quite over her surprise at finding her lovely head so far above her mothers. Here, Jenny, you can sew the hooks and eyes on this waist, said Miss Bennet cheerfully. Or if you feel in tired, certain, you can go down and feed the hens. There's a plate of scrapings on the kitchen table. The girl went slowly out of the room,

her head with its heavy plaits of pale brown hair drooped a little to one side. Miss Filiora looked up from the picture of a preposterously long-limbed lady clad in a bewildering gown of black and purple. I've got some silk in these shades, she said rather vaguely. Then she added abruptly, is she sick? Who, Genovave? Oh no, she ain't sick. But I don't know what she will be if she keeps worrying. I'm keeping a busy

and that I ought to take her mind off if anything will Take her mind off repeated Miss Felura gazing at the simpering countenance of the lady in the picture Who looked as if she never had any mind To take off or put on

Genevieve's being crossed in love said Miss Bennett in a sibilant whisper I don't mind telling you Fulura But don't for goodness sake let anybody else know She's related to the pea bodies and the Winthrop's on her Parr's side. He's been dead since she was little.

But I can tell you she's just as proud as anybody. And when his folks objected, why, she made up her mind she wouldn't marry him. Not if he was a duke and asking her on his bended knee. So she'd come here to me. Miss Bennett paused to listen, her head on one side. He don't know where she is, she finished triumphantly. I tell you, she's got some.

Spunk. Then the two looked at each other guiltily at the sound of her light step on the stair. Now this ear style would be real becoming to you, Fullura, Miss Bennet was saying when Genevieve came in, and it's Sanara and skimp it don't take no goods to speak of. Oh, I've got plenty of goods, Miss Fullura said, but she couldn't for the life of her help a compassionate glance in the direction of the girl. I've got a real stylish skirt pattern, pursued the dressmaker. you can take it just as well as not certain taint no work at all i'll pin it on to you and see how much it'll want taken in thank you melvina miss philura said gratefully but she was thinking with almost painful sympathy of the tall pale girl who by this time was sewing hooks and eyes down the back of a maroon coloured waist of ample proportions don't put em more and a half an inch apart jenny cautioned miss bennet with her mouth full of pins that's miss butthorn's waste and she's so fleshy you'd have to be extra careful with plackets and openings of all sorts for all that she's solely she's awful hard to suit i most died o'er with a set of that waist she wanted to look slim like the picture

miss butthorne i says the lord didn't make you up that way and she told me i wasn't to take the name of the lord my god in vain we're frail children of dust she says reproving like frail i says and i teed right out and jeneve she laughed too but miss bitthorne said she'd pray for me she always says that when she wants to set down hard on anybody i will say it takes a tuck right out of me every time there's something about the idea goes against the grain and yet i don't suppose it'd do any real harm miss bennet stood up to observe miss fullyre's small person invested with the brown paper patty and yet i don't suppose it'd do any real harm miss bennet stood up to observe miss fullura's small person invested with the brown paper pattern there she exclaimed that would be real pretty on you if he was only a mite taller now but i told miss buckthorn we can't be thinking to change one cubit now i'll just trace off that pattern won't take a minute when the two women went downstairs genevieve parsons let two big tears splash on the front of miss buckthorne's maroon coloured waist her young heart was in a tumult of rebellion against the dull pattern of her life. How she hated the jargon of the dressmaking shop, pins, pipings, patterns and placets, the everlasting taking in and letting out, the painful strivings after beauty by the hopelessly ugly, the small, mean economies, the endless monotony of the narrow treadmill

between the sewing machine and the chair by the window. Her mother, an excellent but wholly unimaginative person had chosen Genevieve's career for her when she was a little girl sewing dolls frocks. She was to take a course in dressmaking when she had graduated from the high school. They were poor and the girl had always thought of herself as earning money. She had even looked forward to the time when she could have a shop of her own. This had been the pinnacle of Mrs. Parsons' ambition for her and the girl had accepted it without question. Then she had met him and everything was. was changed. All had been just as her mother had planned it up to that point. Genevieve had

graduated in a white muslin gown of her own making. Then she'd gone to the art school and learned dressmaking in a course of 20 lessons. After that, she sewed for Miss Popham, who sometimes went out by the day with an assistant to make gowns for people who imported their best things from Paris. This was an exceptional opportunity Miss Popham, pressed upon the girl of whom she demanded the maximum of work at the minimum of wages but genevieve was satisfied in these great dull houses one generally worked in the third-story back room and ate a meagre lunch brought up on a tray by a supercilious maid but there were occasional glimpses to be had of the unknown world snatches of music pits of conversation even the fittings conducted by miss popham in the state bedroom below stairs, where Genevieve was sometimes called to assist, even on these occasions when she played the part of an animated pincushion, there was food for the imagination. It was a rainy night in December when the psychological instant had arrived quite unexpectedly,

only the girl never referred to it as psychological. She only thought of it as the first time I saw him. Miss Popham had just completed a masterly copy of a Paris gown at a fifth of its cost and was crawling about on the floor on her hands and knees intent on the hang of the skirt on the majestic person of her employer genevieve was handing pins as usual when the door opened and a young man came in he had apparently just arrived from somewhere for he carried a suitcase and umbrella hello mother he said with a boyish eagerness then he planted a kiss on the lady's plump florid cheek oh my dear protested the matron don't you see i'm having a fitting you're always having something rumpled the boy last time i came home it was a reception and the time before that you had best dress for dinner his mother interrupted coldly and pray give rogers your bag when you come in the intruder turned his ruddy good looks clouded by a frown he muttered something under his breath and then jeneve parsons drew a shrews sharp breath and then it just happened that he glanced about the room and chanced to see her. It was the merest chance, of course, but it was strangely like the meeting of old friends.

She was sure she didn't know how it came about, but in less than a month he had managed to convince Genevieve's mother that he was a really nice young man. Beyond that, Mrs. Parsons, for one, was never known to go. He drank tea with them on Sunday nights, and, praised Mrs. Parsons biscuit and raspberry jam, which he said was the best he ever ate. Once, he invited Genevieve to go with him to a football game. She wore her prettiest clothes, which by this time had taken on an air quite Parisienne, carried a Harvard flag, and was as happy as a girl may be at the great spectacle of youth.

The crowds, the shouting, and the victory for the crimson, warmed her somewhat cold and timid beauty into a loveliness so striking that numbers of his college friends crowded about, eager to be introduced to the pretty Boston girl. That night, he told her that he loved her quite simply and boyishly, and she had allowed him to kiss her.

He would graduate in June, he said, and they would be married directly afterwards. Well, it was November now, and they were parted, forever, she told herself. It was his mum, as anyone but a little goose like Genevieve might have expected. She actually came to see Genevieve in her limousine,

attended by a footman in buttons, and wearing one of Miss Poppins' French gowns. The Parsons lived in a very small, very shabby little house, one of a long row of shabby little houses, all drearily alike, and very far removed from Beacon Street. It was quite the proper environment for the masses. since they were to be found there in such numbers.

But it had not up to the present moment occurred to Genevieve Parsons that she was part of that great general division of humanity. His mother was very kind. She did not, as she might have done, reproached Genevieve. There was something so piteous, so despairing in the young face that even the lady in the Popham French gown was touched by it. But she made her understand how impossible. how utterly entirely absurdly impossible it all was she spoke of her son as that foolish boy and reproached herself for neglecting him

when mrs parsons had attempted to interfere with strident process to the effect that she guessed her genevieve was just as good as anybody else adding further relevant information pertaining to the peabody and winthrop connection the great lady had merely stared at her through her lawn yet where the perfectly appropriate remark which appeared to cut the interview off short like a length of ribbon under a pair of sharp scissors. Thereupon she had swept out to her limousine. The door had been neatly shut by the footman and buttons and the whole shining vision had disappeared in a cloud of East Boston dust which hung dispiritedly in the air before settling on the grimy little houses. She saw him once more to say goodbye. he had protested hotly vainly he'd be of age in a month he'd marry whom he chose his mother had no right not a vestige of a right to spoil his happiness what did genevieve care what any one said as long as he loved her but the peabody and winthrop pride was alive and dominant in this humble descendant it breaks my heart she had sobbed but i promised your mother that i wouldn't you promised my mother he cried but you promised me first in the end he'd gone away only to come again the next day

and the next then in despair the girl had sworn her mother to secrecy and taken flight to malvina bennett's upper front room where it appeared she must remain for uncounted years sewing on hooks and eyes and learning to lay milliner's folds end of chapter six Chapter 7 of Miss Filura's Weddingown by Florence Mores Kingsley. This Librivox recording is in the public domain. Below stairs, Malvina Bennett was saying goodbye to her neighbour. They had been talking for a matter of 20 minutes in the hall. Now Miss Filura had advanced as far as the front door.

She laid her hand upon the knob. I must be going, she said. I know you're very busy, Malvina. Oh yes, I'd be, responded the dressmaker. terrible busy what was getting miss buckthorn's waist on she wants to wear it to your wedding and that reminds me you ain't told me yet what you're going to be married in i'm going to be married in a white dress malvina miss philura said and a soft radiance overspread her face as she remembered the chrysanthemums in the snow after a pause she added timidly mr pettibone likes white he thinks white would be most becoming and suitable almost breathlessly she waited for the dressmaker's verdict it came without delay oh i don't know as i should have thought of it first off mused miss bennet so many folks think of getting wear out of their wedding dresses afterward but seems me seeing most folks don't get married more and three times at the outside as though they could afford

a special dress. I know I should. Now I declare I'd be married in white if I was a hundred. Anyway, if it was the first time. Of course it don't matter about his being a widower. Miss Feliora turned the knob and opened the door. Um, did you get it ready made? inquired Miss Bennett in an aggrieved voice. I kind of thought maybe you'd let me make it for you. Seems we've been neighbours so many years and you were going to marry the minister. It had been on the tip of her tongue to say that she had made the first Mrs. Pettibone's shroud, but she thoughtfully forbore.

Miss Fulura shook her head. No, she said, I haven't bought the dress. Have you got the goods? Not yet. I have the silk thread, though, and the buttonhole twist. It's cream white. Oh, that's good. I don't like dead white, nor oyster white, neither.

It looks kind of cold and dead. to me. Will you let me make it, Filura? I'd admire to do it, and I won't take a cent for it. Miss Filura's eyes shone with gratitude and a deep happiness filled her breast. The wedding dress was still in the encircling good, but she had the silk thread and Malvina would make it. Oh, you needn't bother about findings either, pursued Miss Benedict eagerly. I've got some real and some pasmantry with pearl beads I saved off Mars wedding dress. It's the latest style now, and I know just the prettiest way to make the skirt. Oh, how good you are, Malvina, murmured Miss Fulura, joyously adding the white passimentary to the visible portion of the invisible wedding garment.

Well, I guess I ain't forgot how good you was to me last winter when I was all crippled up with rheumatism. I'll come in the evening and help you cut out the brocade you've got. and say, wouldn't you like to have Genevieve for a day or two to help make it up? The change would do her good. Oh, well, I'd like it very much, only she wouldn't expect no pay from you. She's working for me by the month, and I'd like to get rid of her for a few days. It's awful worried and to have anybody about that's been crossed in love. You can feel it all through your bones like an east wind.

miss filura thoughtfully closed the front door through which a keen wind had begun to draw i must be going she said gently well good-bye filura i'll send genevieve over early to-morrow miss filura was thinking about the girl as she went down the path to the front gate she hoped she would talk to her about her unhappy love affair in the all encircling good was happiness she was sure and balm for bruised spirits There is an abundance of everything, she reminded herself, a lavish abundance of everything for everybody. She drew a deep breath of ecstasy. The blood danced through her veins, bringing back her youth, which, after all, had never been lost, but only softly overlaid with years,

like a chrysanthemum under the snow. The butterwoman's wagon was tied in front of Miss Feliora's door and Hald her herself confronted her as she opened the gate. I didn't dare sleeve anything on the stoop for fear of the cat, said the butterwoman, so I clumb into the kitchen window and put the things on the table. Mind you, eat more. Tain any too much if you expect to get any fat onto your bones by Thanksgiving. She gazed critically at Miss Fulura, her head on one side.

Seemed to me you're a mite fleshier than you was last time I was here. anyway you ain't near sepigid looking and you've got a shine in your eyes it's because i'm so happy said miss philora truthfully everybody is so good so kind the encircling good seemed very near it shone in the bright dark eyes of the butterwoman she had seen it in malvina bennett's worn face when she had offered to make the wedding dress did you mind what i said and eat up everything i brought you the butterwoman was inquiring miss philura blushed well i i only took two or three fresh eggs to old mrs davies her hands have stopped laying and a bit of the only a small piece of the chicken to-the butterwoman laughed a deep mellow laugh of course you did she said you couldn't no more help giving things away than a bird can help singin i knew you would you'll make a first-rate minister's wife but i bet you'll never get real fat well i'm sure i hope not said miss fullura fervently the butterwoman was looking at her keenly taint but two weeks to thanksgiven she said slowly i remember once a long time ago her voice trailed into silence then she shook herself very much after the fashion of a big shaggy animal. Oh, kind of wintry, ain't it? she said loudly.

I like it, though. And my ends is laying right along. I keep them warm and give them plenty to eat. She started briskly forward. Did you ever see anything like that horse are mine? Joshua, eat and go to sleep on two legs, kind of kitty-cornered. Do you see? She climbed into her wagon.

Oh, goodbye. She called out, I'll be here next. week miss filura went slowly into the house thinking of the butterwoman she knew what it was to live alone just to live without any particular interest to enliven the dull monotony of the passing days now for her a door had opened suddenly into a wonderful garden full of bright-hued flowers that's the way it looked to miss filura she had never thought of the parsonage as an ugly old-fashioned house very much in need of fresh paint and paper, nor of the minister as a middle-aged widower. The parsonage was his home, and she was going to live there with him.

She was to be permitted to love him, to cook for him, to mend his stockings, and sew the buttons on his preaching clothes. This was happiness, joy, and it was only two weeks from Thursday. She wondered if the butterwoman was happy. From her own warm heart, she sent a great wave of love

after the strong, broad-shouldered figure perched on the seat of the jolting wagon already up the first steep slope of the hill behind the town. The butterwoman was whistling through her closed teeth as she drove onward through the fairy world which was slowly coming back to its common everyday aspect under the bright noonday. There was a subdued jingle of silver in the pocket of her stout woolen dress.

A pound of coffee gave forth its subtle fragrance from the basket under the seat. She owed nothing to anyone in the world, and there was a slow-growing fund in the savings bank. Hulder Johnson saw other people's lives from their back doorsteps on Tuesdays and Thursdays. She never asked questions, nor spied curiously into the kitchens opened to her decisive knock, and yet her shrewd eyes saw much that the owners of the kitchen supposed to be concealed from the world. world. She knew who would haggle with her over the price of her new-laid eggs and the rolls of fresh butter. It was a pleasure which Holder never denied herself to enter into heated argument with certain women who nevertheless paid the hard silver into her hard palm when

the petty strife was ended. Hulder demanded and got more for her farm products than the village stores asked for light commodities brought from a distance. It was little shrews. she knew concerning cold storage or preservatives, and she cared less. Her eggs were always fresh, her butter fragrant, and her chickens plump and neatly dressed. If you don't want them at my price, well, you don't have to have them, was her final dictum. Perhaps Hilda had grown a trifle hard and cynical during her solitary life. She had reasons. There were people even in Innesfield, who never found fault with her prices, who were always ready to take what she had,

but they'd pay next time, or could she perhaps change a $20 bill? Unexpectedly, Hilda said yes on one such occasion. When the woman blushed, stammered and finally said she had really forgotten, but that very morning her husband had borrowed the money until evening. After 15 years of observing life from Inisfield kitchen, doors, Holder knew her narrow world far better than the minister, and quite as well as the butcher and the grocer, whose knowledge of humankind is sure to become wide and deep. And so,

Hilda often whistled through her closed teeth as her patient old horse climbed the steep hill behind the town, while she thought over the experiences of the morning. There was always food for thought in what she had seen and heard. On the whole, Houlder was singularly content as she turned her back upon the clustered houses, where people were getting ready to be married, were bringing children into the world, or were dying,

and continually struggling to pay what life costs them. It always appeared to cost cruelly, even at its beginning and end, when for the most part other people were obliged to pay. It was lonely but peaceful upon the crest of the hill. hill and the weather-beaten little house seemed far removed from the toil and struggle of the valley. The furry and feathered creatures which furnished her livelihood lived tranquilly and died when she so decreed it without protest. Haldah drove into her own yard, welcomed by the cackle

of fowls and the joyous bark of a watchful collie. She put up her horse with the usual care, gave the fowl some grain and then unlocked the back door and entered the warm, silent kitchen. The kitchen in Halders' house was large and two windows looked towards the south. There was a shining cook stove, braided mats on the yellow-painted floor

where the sun laying golden squares, and a cala lily unfolding its first white sheath amid leaves of brilliant green. On the back of the stove, a brown earthenware teapot simmered in the heat holder light her tea brewed long and strong she poured a cup of the steaming liquid and drank it clear then she cut two thick slices of bread and a slab of cheese and sat down to warm her feet in the oven I guess she said aloud

between bites of the bread and cheese that it's better as it is she had said this to herself many times before and at last she had come to believe it "'Spose he'd come back,' she went on, "'stroking the striped kitten that had jumped on her knee, "'intent upon the crumbs of cheese. "'Just suppose he had, and I'd have married him. "'I might have been dead long ago, "'with a baby in my arms,

"'like that poor little thing they took me in to see this morning. "'I might her, who knows? "'Or I might live to stand by his grave, "'with a row of hungry children at my back like Mrs. Peter, just now. And I guess I wasn't made for it. It's a heap easier as it is. She stretched her broad, muscular hands to the heat of the stove and surveyed them intently. There ain't nothing I can't do for myself, she said defiantly. And I ain't lonesome, not a mite. No, ma'am. She arose presently, shook the crumbs from her skirt, poked the fire noisily, and then tramed.

across the floor to the window, her heavy shoes echoing loudly in the quiet house. I tell you I ain't lonesome, she muttered. I don't want nothing different from what it is. Rylane, I don't have no trouble compared with most folks. Look at them, then look at me. I'm strong and healthy, and I've got money laid up, and there ain't nobody to bother me. then suddenly her strong features became convulsed and she beat the window-sill with her fists oh tom tom she moaned it's an awful long time me all alone since farther died she buried her face in her arms and so was silent for a while while a whining wind crept stealthily about the house and the clock ticked solemnly from its corner

somewhere a great way off a cock crowed announcing the hour of noon it was echoed from holder's barnyard twice thrice then all was still once more only the whining wind stole into the chimney and moaned there like an imprisoned thing in the long look behind which the butterwoman in the midst of her bustling activities had paused to take she saw the self that had been and the self that must have been and the self that must might have been. And then, stepping softly, like one in the presence of the dead, she moved across the floor to where a battered chest stud against the wall. It had been painted a dull blue, and on its top worked out in brass-headed nails, was a device of crossed anchors and a name, Thomas Bowles. She lifted the lid and looked in. Then one by one, she took out the articles within and laid them on the floor beside the chest.

A seaman's blouse. A huge shell pink and white like a baby's palm. Other smaller shells alive with the iridescent mystery of the sea. Many hewed corals, a string of curious dark beads

exhaling the odour of spices. All of these things the butterwoman removed and then, crouched beside the chest, she leaned her chin upon her rough red hands and stared down at the one thing which remained therein it was an oblong box of shining wood inlaid with many coloured bits of shell in a design of flowers and leaves it had not grown old she was thinking it would never grow old for an instant she saw it as she had first seen it years before through an aching blur of tears then she took it on her lap and sitting flat on the floor opened it. A faint odour of roses crept from the box and stole through the room

like a gentle ghost of the long ago. There were folds of tissue paper within. The woman touched them. Her rough hands grown suddenly tremulous. Then she deliberately lifted the paper and gazed at what it hid for a long minute. End of chapter 7. Chapter 8 of Miss Filiora's Wedding gown by Florence Morse Kingsley. This Libre of Watch recording is in the public domain. When Mr. George Trimmer entered his store on the Wednesday morning immediately succeeding the Monday on which his pastor had issued his bold ultimatum, he was obviously in a very bad temper. Mr. Adelbert Small, regularly employed in the Emporium for a matter of ten years back, knew the signs, and cautiously retreated to his desk in his desk in the the rear of the store, where during certain hours of each day he was engaged in the bookkeeping end of the business. Mr. Small was an undersized man, with what is known as a sandy complexion

and rather watery blue eyes rimmed with red, the red being a consequence of a too strenuous application to figures in the semi-darkness which prevailed in the rear of the emporium. He had been talking with the new clerk, when both men caught sight of the spare stooped shrewsha. jolted figure of their employer through the plate glass window at the front of the store. Mr Trimmer was twenty minutes after his usual time, a fact which Adelbert Small had already commented upon. Gee, murmured the experience, Clark, There'll be a hot time in the old town if I ain't mistaken in the weather signs.

He climbed nimbly to his stool and was deep in figures when the door closed behind Mr. Trimmer. Good morning, sir, said Milton Gregory, with perfect propriety of tone and manner. There are occasions when a smiling politeness acts as a species of mental mustard plaster. It is a tacit rebuke to ruffled tempers and suggests a certain smug superiority, quite maddening to persons of an irritable disposition. Mr Trimmer merely growled as he hung up his shabby overcoat and topped it with the shabbier hat. What you fellow's been doing, he demanded,

as he removed the Arctic overshoes he wore at all seasons except midsummer. We've got to do more business than we have so far this week, or I'll have to discharge both of you. Adelbert Small wriggled uneasily upon his stool. He had heard this threat many times before, but it never failed to arouse his apprehensions. Mr. Small was a family man, with a sickly wife and two children,

small by name and small all over, to quote their father's frequently uttered aphorism concerning them. Therefore, his job, as he called it, was of the utmost importance. He was in the habit of prefacing most of his modest plans with the words, If I don't lose my job, or if I can hold that job of mine a while longer, and so forth. This was very depressing to Mrs. Small.

who declared she suffered from an access of nervousness every Saturday afternoon for fear Adelbert would come home without his job. As for the little smalls, they froliced, as it were, upon the brink of a jobless future. Therefore it was that Adelbert blinked his watery eyes over the columns of figures he was adding, and nervously curled his toes behind the rung of his stool and was silent. The new clerk, however, answered with great cheerfulness, "'Doing?' he echoed. "'Why, we've swept the store,

"'uncovered the stock, and I've arranged the windows "'in the way I spoke of yesterday. "'Did you notice them, sir?' "'Mr Trimmer had noticed the windows, "'dressed in a manner which would have done credit to a city shop. "'But he merely grunted. "'I thought trade was pretty brisk,' "'continued the young man with admirable aplomb.

"'We had quite a run on handkerchief yesterday.' "'Oh, we did, eh? "'And you think trade is pretty, pretty brisk, huh? Well, you're a very smart young man, very smart knowing. But you'll find yourself out of a job some of these fine days along with your smartness. Then maybe you'll set up in business for yourself. I guess you're a little too smart for me. Do you want me to leave today, sir? inquired Milton Gregory, with what Mr Trimmer set down as an impudent smile at his employer. Then he glanced towards the corner where his own hat and coat were bestowed,

with a purposeful air. When I want you to quit, I'll let you know, snuck Mr Trimmer. There's a customer come in in, get busy. It was Miss Fuliora Rice in quest of a spool of silk. She was quite intent upon a scrap of brocade whose colours she wished to match. But when the young man came forward with his pleasant smile, she gazed at him with wide, uncomprehending eyes.

Why, what, oh, she stammered, you are surprised to see me he inquired don't you think it's time i went to work oh but do you want purple or black asked the young man he had taken the scrap of silk and was turning it over in his strong brown fingers with a smile um purple i think a ten cent spool when did you come last week he said holding a spool for her inspection is that about right i'm coming to call soon, if I may. He smiled down into her agitated face with great good humour. It was such a surprise, said Miss Fulura. I'm sure I never, never should have expected. She was fumbling in her purse, and he could not help seeing how shabby and how nearly empty it was. You haven't told me whether I may come to see you, he reminded her, as he handed her the change from a quarter of a dollar. Oh, of course. Oh, I do.

hope you will and i haven't inquired is everyone quite well your dear mother and i have heard nothing to the contrary he told her with what a more astute observer might have set down as a slight bitterness in his voice then he smiled down at her reassuringly i'm here on business he went on i'll be glad to explain when i see you might i come to-night miss philura hesitated for the fraction of a minute minute. Mr. Pettibone was in the habit of dropping in over Wednesday evening, but she was determined not to be selfish. I shall be very glad to have you drink tea with me, she said, with quaint cordiality. Here you, Milt, called Mr. Trimmer, jerking his thumb in the direction of a new customer at the opposite counter. I'll come, he promised Miss Filiora.

It was more than an hour thereafter, before the stress of business again permitted a short conversation between Mr Trimmer and his junior clerk. Hmm, you don't want to get into general conversation with customers, said Mr Trimmer sententiously. It ain't what you're here for, Milton, and I want you should paste it in your hat. Let the women folk do the talking, and you tend strictly to business. That's my way, and I ain't going to have it no other in this ear store. You understand?

Young Milton Gregory stooped and picked up a scrap of paper from the floor. He glanced at it carelessly and then tucked it into his pocket. I think you make it sufficiently clear, he replied. Excuse me, sir, interrupted Mr Adelbert Small with an apologetic cough, but I haven't had the opportunity before. When I opened the store this morning, I found this under the door. Mr. Trimmer eyed the large square envelope which Mr. Small handed him. it bore his own name in small distinct characters and the flap was fastened with a large christmas seal displaying the words peace on earth good-will to men oh kind of early in the season for that sort of thing i thought observed mr small with a feeble attempt at alas

mr trimmer with great deliberation bestowed the envelope in his pocket he thought he detected an undue curiosity on the faces of his employees Get back to them books, Del. You had his accountant. And you, Milt. Put some coal on the furnace. Left to himself, he opened the envelope. It contained several crisp bank bills, folded inside a single sheet,

which bore the words, For the minister's back pay. Better get busy. A reporter from the Boston hub will be present at the service on Sunday. Hmm, exclaimed Mr. Trimmer. I'd like to know. in creation he paused to count the bills then he blinked cleared his throat and turned the envelope over hmm peace on earth eh yet there had been a distinct threat conveyed to his mind by the brief words of the unknown person who was interested in the minister's back pay

he was decidedly glad on the whole when the door opened to admit the figure of the senior deacon of the church who was also a member of the board of trustees morning george began the deacon rubbing the dampness from the end of his nose with the back of his mitten hand oh good morning deacon responded mr trimmer he was still holding the square envelope with its enclosure deacon's sharp old eyes detected the roll of yellow-backed green paper in Mr Trimmer's hand. Collections good, eh, commented the deacon. He removed his striped mittens, rolled them up and stuffed them into his bulging pocket. Then he produced an ancient and hard-worked bandana handkerchief and blew a bugle blast. There's nothing like cold cash to oil the wheels of trade, he observed irracurly. Mr. Trimmer all unconsciously had divested himself of the calculating merchant.

he was now elder trimmer solemn and sanctified i have just received a goodly contribution to the pastor's salary he said in his best prayer meeting manner the lord is on our side you don't say cried the deacon wagging his aquiline old face from side to side who donated it oh it's anonymous mr trimmer told him some good brother doubtless. He stole a second glance at the handwriting on the single page. Or consecrated sister. He coughed as in church. Or sister, he repeated, who has chosen to heed our Lord's command in keeping the right hand in ignorance of what the left hand hath performed. It is in short fifty dollars. and thus encouraged I feel Hallelujah

cried the deacon Maybe the pastor will let us off at that We don't want no publicity in our church affairs I was talking with my wife and sister Buckthorn yesterday The lady's aid will contribute twenty-five dollars They'll take it out of their missionary fund It seems wrong to deprive the heathens began Mr Trimmer.

But the Methodists or get one on us if the matters took to presbytery interrupted Deacon Scrimger. I hear there's a good deal of talk already. I regret that our pastor should have taken such a stand

at this time, murmured Mr Trimmer. I suppose we can get rid of him and get a younger man, suggested Deacon Scrimger briskly. A young man draws better in a man of his. age mr trimmer was not without certain graces of character though these were often in eclips he glanced sharply from the letter in his hand to the face of his colleague

we'd have to pay up just the same he said coldly i don't want any whipper snapper in the pulpit we'll have to get busy mr trimmer did not either then or later show the anonymous communication which had accompanied the gift of fifty dollars but the thought of the reporter from the Boston hub remained with him as treasurer of the board of trustees it would devolve upon himself to make a financial statement that report should reflect credit upon

Innesfield he was determined and incidentally upon that pious person elder George Trimmer End of chapter 8 Chapter 9 and 10 of Miss Filiora's wedding gown by Florence Mores Kingsley. This Librevox recording is in the public domain.

Chapter 9 Miss Villura hurried home after her brief interview with Mr. Trimmer's new clerk in a troubled, agitated state of mind. Now what, she asked herself, can have happened to Gregory? Not being able to answer this query, she harked back to the once-absorbing occupation of thinking about her own duty as related to that personable young. young man, at the present moment, engaged in measuring off one and three-quarter yards of green ribbon for Miss Elector Pratt, who had entered the emporium, just as Miss Filura Rice had left it. Miss Pratt had observed Miss Filura's agitation, but had attributed it to a widely different reason.

She was herself bursting with a piece of information which had only just reached her after a circuitous route through the town. "'You ain't lived here long, have you?' She interrogated the young man who was wrapping up her purchase. She thought he strongly resembled a picture she had seen in an advertisement of redid-made clothes. He had the same, clean-shaven, square jaw, straight nose and tall, well-made figure.

Miss Elector smiled into his grey eyes as she asked the question. "'No, I haven't,' he said briefly. then you ain't heard about the minister the minister he repeated oh yes mr petty bone he was going to get married thanksgiving day but i guess maybe it won't come off quite as soon after all why not inquired mr trimmer's clerk with some sharpness there had been a note of joy in the lady's voice which she had made no attempt to disguise they're strong feeling in the community that he better resign and I guess he's going to but of course you wouldn't be interested seeing you're a stranger amongst us miss Pratt sniffed as she bestowed her parcel in the netted bag she carried then she bowed genteelly to mr trimmer i was going to stop at your house this noon to ask if you couldn't make it convenient to pay

your pew rent said that gentleman motioning his clerk to retire my pew rent cried miss pratt well don't i set in the singer's seat i'd like to know and mar ain't been to church for more than a year well if you don't want the seat any longer give it up advised mr trimmer but we've got to raise some money and you're on our books for twenty-five dollars well well well we get our new pastor, I'll speak to Mar about it, perred Miss Elector. But we'll be candidating for a spell, I suppose. What'd you mean? demanded Mr Trimmer with considerable assertity. Miss Pratt displayed some excitement. It's come to me straight as a string. Miss Deacon Buckthorn told Abby Whitten that Mrs. Scrimgear told her that the deacon said the deacon was in here, not ten minutes ago.

didn't he say we was going to have a new pastor not to me no man and didn't you tell your wife mr trimmer suddenly divested himself of his churchly manner for one thoroughly domestic oh drag the women was what he muttered under his breath And all this time, Miss Filura was wondering whether biscuit and cold boiled eggs cut into rounds and peach preserves with jelly roll would satisfy the appetite of the young gentleman who was going to drink tea with her that evening. He looked very hearty, she told herself, with certain misgivings. But she'd been reckless in her use of the chicken that Butterwoman had left on the occasion of her last visit. Genevieve Parsons had been helping make the black and purple brocquette. and Miss Fulura had set what she privately considered a lavish repast before the young person each day. Miss Parsons might be crossed in love, but she brought a healthy young appetite to her meals. She had not said anything about her sorrow to Miss Fulura, although that lady was eagerly sympathetic.

The girl sat by the window, putting final touches on the brocade waist, when Miss Fulura hurried in, quite out of breath. i was never so surprised she declared the girl by the window fixed her brown eyes on the agitated face her sorrow had evidently got the better of her during miss filura's absence for her eyelids were pink and a stray drop twinkled on the long curling lashes oh you poor darling cried miss fullura i feel almost wicked to be so happy when you but you know dear he is perfectly safe in the uncircling good and your own must come to you oh and i hope you won't mind my saying it but it slipped out before i thought the girl gazed almost defiantly at her would-be comforter i see cussie Maldvena must have talked to you about my affairs, she said stiffly. Please don't be angry, my dear, begged Miss Felura. I ardent to have mentioned it, but seeing my cousin so unexpectedly,

although perhaps I shouldn't call him that. His mother was related to my mother, a first cousin once removed, I think it was, but cousin Caroline has always been kindness itself. And you don't mind my knowing just a little bit, do you, dear? the girl made no reply to this appeal her slim shoulders lifted slightly as she searched in a small tin box on the window-sill for a hook of the right sort in the encircling good there is a lavish abundance of happiness for you said miss fullura softly there was a pink spot on either thin cheek her blue eyes shone at bright as stars i had to tell you she went on it wouldn't be generous to keep it to my everything will come right if you will only the girl faced about in her chair i don't know what cousin malvina

bennett told you she said coldly i was engaged to be married and his mother i wasn't good enough she made it perfectly plain i saw that it was true i wasn't suitable so it's all over he went to london or Germany. I don't know where exactly. He never wrote to me after, well, after I explained. We said goodbye and he went away. The young voice trembled slightly. I've told you this because I can't bear to have people sorry for me.

So please don't. I know, I know, my dear. I want to be glad for you. Miss Fulura stooped and dropped a butterfly kiss on top of the blonde head. I shall be glad for you. I am glad this minute. Everything will come right.

You'll see. How could it? M murmured the girl. You don't know her. It lacked exactly ten minutes of six o'clock when Miss Feliora's bell jangled, and Miss Feliora herself, quite pink and happy, after a reassuring glance at the biscuits,

browning propitiously in the oven, opened the door to admit, Mr Trimmer's smart clerk, looking smarter than ever, in clothes which his hostess was totally unable to appreciate, but which roused her to vague wishes concerning Mr. Pettybone's ministerial wardrobe. The tea table was already spread in cosy proximity to the steady fires of the scarlet geraniums, which had flowered with surprising earliness this fall, and almost immediately the two sat down. Upon second thoughts, which are often good and worthy, Miss Fulura had added to her menu bait potatoes and a dish of creamed codfish,

a delectable plait when properly prepared. The young man was hungry. There could be no doubt of that. Miss Fulura beamed with delight when he accepted his fifth biscuit. Now, Gregory, she said, was something of the authority of the successful hostess. I want you to tell me how it happens that you are in Innesfield working for George Trimmer. I do hope. She coughed delicately behind her fringe napkin. I hope the family has not met with reverses.

This, she felt sure, was the proper term to apply to the losses of very rich people. No, he said quite seriously. Father and mother are quite well, and they haven't lost any of their confounded money. I wish they had. Yes, by George I do. I wish they'd lose every single. scent of it. Oh my dear, deprecated Miss Fulura in pain surprise. I've met with reverses, though, pursued the young man. That's why I've cut it out. Miss Fulura looked inquiringly.

You've cut. He nodded. The whole outfit. I'm my own man now, working for my living, getting eight dollars a week and living on five. What do you think of that? She didn't know exactly what to think in view of his appetite. He had absentmindedly reached for his sixth biscuit and was buttering it thickly. I haven't had a decent meal before since I came to Innesfield. And you certainly can cook, Cousin Flora. That white stuff now. I'd like to see Mother's chef up against that.

May I have some more and another potato? Miss Filiora beamed. "'It's only creamed codfish, Greg,' she told him. "'It's bully stuff. "'I'm going to have it every day at my house, if I ever get one.' "'He heaved a deep sigh, which was not all content. "'And your dear mother, what does she think of your... "'Mother supposes me to be spending money in London, Paris, Barden.

"'She thinks I'm in Europe. "'She saw me on board the country. "'I had a first-class cabin, "'several thousand dollars, "'and, incidentally, the maternal blessing.' "'He was staring down at his plate. "'Won't you have some cake?' "'Hurge Miss Fuliora.

"'It isn't quite as nice as I could wish, "'but he leaned his elbows on the table "'and stared across at her. "'Do you think one person, a fellow's mother, say, "'has a right to arrange his life for him, "'according to her own idea, ears like bric-a-brac on a table his boyish good looks had hardened into something strangely stern for a fleeting instant miss philura thought he resembled the majestic person who had constituted herself the undisputed arbiter of so many destinies if you do he went on i don't i suppose i'll forgive my mother some time i shall if he paused to scowl darkly the preserves twittered miss phileura gently aren't quite as clear as usual this year but i hope you'll um i was engaged to the dearest sweetest most innocent little girl on god's earth he went on she was oh lord i can't talk about it but she

you see i graduated in june and i had my twenty first birthday in april i'm no baby and we'd planned to be married and go abroad together mother had always said i should go as soon as i got my degree i got it and it was cum laude by george i worked like a dog but when i told her you mean cousin caroline yes when i told mother about it and expected the lord knows what i ought to have expected she is as hard as this table and he smote the mahogany a blow that set miss philure's an ancestral tea-cups dancing i beg your pardon cousin i hope i haven't broken anything but i can't think of it without getting swearing mad oh i hope not my dear murmured miss philura your dear mother she used to wash my mouth out with kitchen soap for what she called profanity he said moodily but kitchen soap isn't in it for what she's goaded me into since look here cusset I'll tell you what she did. She went to see, my dearest girl. I had asked her to do it,

but I might have known better. She went to see her, and it's too brutal. She told, my darling, she wasn't good enough. Think of that, will you? An innocent, white-souled angel of a girl, too pure and sweet for any man to look at

with anything but worship, and my mother told her she must give me up. because rot it makes me sick jeneve sewed for a living and i genevieve repeated miss filura that's her name pretty isn't it but it isn't a patch on her an excited colour was coming and going in miss philura's cheeks what should she do her duty to cousin caroline loomed majestic and threatening like that lady herself in irate mood as she gazed across the table at the face of her young kinsman. Oh, my dear Gregory, she murmured gently. How very extraordinary. But you aren't eating anything.

The young man paid no sort of heed to the agitation of his hostess. She's in this town somewhere, he went on. I wormed that much out of her mother. But how could you? In London, you said, or was it East Boston? I'm so surprised. you know to think i didn't stay in london he explained i allowed mother to ship me off for i wanted time to mull things over i came back directly and went straight to see genevieve but she was gone and she'd made her mother promise not to tell where she was she's proud the poor darling and when my mother oh confounded i can't talk about it but i want you to help me find her i've ransacked their town

and I can't get any trace of her. He fixed compelling eyes upon Miss Felura. That's why I went to work for Trimmer. I thought she'd be sure to come there to buy something. And besides, I wanted to show Mother and Father I could earn my own living and hers too. You know everybody around here, Cousin, Fulura. You must have seen her.

She's tall and slender. Her eyes are brown, and her hair. Oh, you ought to see her hair. such a lot of it and all shiny and curling i've got a bit of it here he produced a wallet from out a pocket of which he took a folded paper there he said lifting a long strand of yellow hair from its wrapping did you ever see anything like that fine and soft and lovely it's like her oh yes yes indeed i am so interested dear gregory oh Isn't that the doorbell? Pray excuse me while I answer it. It was, as might have been expected,

the Reverend Mr. Pettibone who craved admittance. Miss Fulura heaved a deep breath of relief as she looked into his strong, tranquil face. I'm so very glad you've come, she whispered, as he stooped to kiss her. Really, I couldn't think what to do. My cousin is here, or perhaps I should say my distant relative.

Cousin Caroline always speaks of me in that way, and so, of course, somewhat breathlessly, she ushered him into the little sitting-room, where her guest stood moodily staring at the coals in the base burner. My distant relative, Gregory Van Duser, Mr. Pettibone,

she managed to say. Then, while the two shook hands, looking squarely into each other's eyes after the fashion of men, she withdrew to the kitchen to gain composure. Oh, Morty dear, she whispered, as she recklessly bestowed upon the cat the remainder of the creamed codfish, which would have done perfectly well for her own breakfast. To think, I know where she is this minute, and it is in my power to make two young creatures perfectly happy and to foil Cousin Caroline as well. I'm afraid I can't help doing it, and I am so glad.

But I shall ask him, he'll know whether. I ought to or not, but Providence, which is not always hostile, whatever some people may think, and which indeed appears to interest itself particularly and most benignly in the loves of young and innocent beings, as no odds of the Reverend Mr. Pettibone, nor yet of Miss Fulura. Gregory Van Duser, very stiff, though polite, towards the elderly person who had interrupted his conversation with Miss Fulura, presently took his leave. and went swinging off down the street at a great pace. At the corner, just beneath the ice-bound branches of a great elm,

a shadowy figure had paused and was in the act of introducing a letter into the narrow mouth of a post-box, when the arc light struck a sparkle of gold from the bent head. Young Gregory's heart leaped to his throat and to his lips. Genevieve, he cried. End of Chapter 9. to ten miss malvina bennett stood rubbing her chilled fingers over miss philura's cook-stove from which that little lady had just taken a pan of hot water for her breakfast things miss bennet wore a shawl over her head and she had not removed from the front of her dress the faded pin cushion fashioned in the shape of a heart and bristling with pins and needles i suppose you've heard about jenniv she began she said he was here taking supper with you last night and

to think of his being a relative of yours oh cried miss filura in her agitation she almost dropped the cracked teacup which she had used for fifteen years drinking her tea and coffee lukewarm out of consideration for its delicate condition oh but i didn't tell him i couldn't think what my duty was to curzon caseline but i asked mr pettibone and he said i was set under the stove reading that continued story in the fashion monthly chimed in Miss Bennett. And Genevieve, she'd been writing a letter to her Mar. A better girl than Genevieve Parsons never lived, if I do say it being sister-in-law to her Ma's own sister. Cousin Mother, she says, I'll just run out and slip this letter in the box.

I'll be back in a minute. Oh, put on your code, I says. It's growing cold. Then I forgot all about her. I haven't got to that point in the story where Lionel proposes to Lady Clara. and she says she's always loved him from a child. Well, as I say, I'd completely forgotten Genevieve's going out to the postbox,

when all of a sudden, the clock struck nine. And I says whatever's got Genevieve. Up I jumps and put on my shawl and runs out to the letterbox. There weren't a soul in sight. Oh my, but I was scared. Think, she's been brooding over her trouble so long, she's out of her mind, maybe. Well, I started for your own.

house hard as I could go, leaving my front door wide open. Well, of course, the wind blew in and broke the lamp chimney. I found the glass on the floor this morning. Oh, lucky it didn't set the house on fire. Then I see Genevieve. She was coming down the street with a man. Goodness, wasn't I flabbergasted? They didn't see me, but just dawdled along as if it was June. They went right by me. Beezer took up with each other they didn't see me no more as if I was an electric light pole. When they got to the house, they stopped

inside the gate and right in the shadow of the big lilac bush he kissed her. I heard it. Oh, then I took a hold. Genevieve, I says. Just like that I says it. She gave a little scream. Oh, cousin Malvina, she says. I thought you were

Yes, I said. You thought I was safe in the house by the base burner reading a love story but i ain't i says i'm right on the job i looking after you i says same as i told you mar i would then he spoke up i'm gregory van d'usier he says and jenev is gone to marry me right away oh gregg she says yes genevieve he says you promised you know miss bennett paused for breath oh dear dear my murmured Miss Filura. "'Oh, ain't you glad?' demanded Melvina Bennett. "'You'd better believe I be.

You wouldn't know, Genevieve, this morning. When I come up to the sewing-room after doing up the breakfast dishes, there she said. It's pretty as a pink, singing kind of soft to herself. And what do you think she was doing?' Miss Bennett paused dramatically. "'Well, I'm sure I don't know,' murmured Miss Filura, wrinkling her forehead. She couldn't help thinking of cousin Caroline Van Duser and feeling like a guilty conspirator

as she pictured to herself that majestic lady's wrath and consternation at the swift undoing of all her carefully laid plans. You couldn't guess in hundred years, not if you were to die for it. Oh, she wasn't crying? Hazard is Miss Filiora? With joy, I mean, she amended quickly. Crying? Crying, sniffed Miss Bennett. You ain't got much imagination, Filura.

No, she weren't crying. She was a sewing purple buttons all down the back of Miss Buckthorn's red waist. Really? Interrogated Miss Feliora, weakly endeavouring to banish the stern visage of Mrs. J. Mortimer Van Duser from her mind. And she'd sewed him on good and firm, too, continued Miss Bennet with a cackle of laughter. I'm going to send her over here to finish your black and purple.

this afternoon. I can't bother with her. And say, Filura, that reminds me. I'll take them white goods right home with me now and get the dress cut out and ready to fit. That's really what I come for. Oh, the white goods, repeated Miss Filura in a low voice. Oh, you mean, I mean your wedding dress. I ought to have started on it before, but I wanted to get the shop kind of cleaned up and work out of the house before I begun on yours. Oh, oh, oh, oh, but I, well, the material. Miss Filura's voice died into silence. She polished the knife she was holding with tremulous fingers.

Ain't you got their goods yet? Almost screamed Miss Bennett. And the wedding only a week off come Thursday. Oh, why, Philura Rice! Oh, I believe it is on the way, faltered Miss Filura. Then she straightened her small figure confidently. "'It is on the way,' she repeated firmly. "'It will be here soon.'

"'I should hope so if I'm going to make it,' said Miss Bennett. "'I don't want to throw it together. "'I plan to trim it with some of that new kind of trimming made out of the goods. "'It's pleated on both sides. "'The plates turned opposite ways. "'Oh, it's awful stylish. "'But it takes time to make it. "'It must be pretty.'

"'Miss Filura spoke with a sweet aloof, which drew Miss Bennet's faded eyes to her face. Well, I must say, she syllabled. You don't seem to worry none about your goods being delayed. Some folks would be wild and flying round like Anne with air cut off. Miss Fullura smiled, a sweet, faint smile, which somehow made Miss Bennet think of a pictured angel in her copy of Pilgrim's progress.

I am not at all worried, she said. I'm sure. sure it will come in time end of chapter ten chapter eleven of miss villora's wedding gown by florence morse kingsley this librivox recording is in the public domain mrs j mortimer van duser sat before the fire in her dressing-room feeling quite at ease in a carefully relaxed position even her jewelled hands lay supinely amid the silken folds of her negligee mrs van duser was rested after a strenuous afternoon at the ontological club during the course of which she had presented a pregnant paper on parental influence as related to the law of karma an earnest discussion had followed the reading of the paper with mrs van duser as its pivotal point so to speak or to quote dr orilla robinson cobb's words its radioactive centre mrs van duser had found it all exceedingly uplifting yet even her robust well-reduxombs nourished body, demanded its dues of rest and relaxation, and Mrs. Van Duser was not one to push ontological theories to the point of what she privately considered folly. There were many worthy persons interested in the mental cult of which Mrs. Van Duser had become a shining exponent, who had no

social responsibilities, and who were not burdened with an excess of this world's goods. Such individuals could scarcely realise the weight of duties which devolved upon Mrs. Van Duser, in her double role of radioactive centre of the ontological club, and undisputed leader of that august inner circle of society, which constituted the veritable hub, written, of course, with a capital letter, of that mighty wheel of progress called Boston. Mrs. Van Duser made it a point to relax.

She justly objected to the metaphysically false term devitalise, particularly when dining out, the dinner to be followed by an equally important, important function in the shape of a great reception at the home of a woman who attempted, but without success, to rival Mrs. Van Duser both socially and ontologically. As everyone knows, one must think of nothing at all when in a condition of relaxation, and if attainable, there is nothing more potent than this quiescent state to remove wrinkles and other signs of advancing years, both a false concept of the carnal mind,

or to restore vigour and brilliancy to the mental powers. Mrs. Van Duser, which particularly to look and feel at her best on this evening, for which Fifeen, her maid, was already laying out the newest and most successful of her Popham Paris creations. But her mind, with annoying persistence, kept harking back to the discussion of the afternoon, and with the variously conflicting views of the law of karma as related to the subject of parental responsibility, came the thought of her own and only son, Gregory. His name was Milton Gregory Van Duser, after two of his great-grandfathers.

Mrs. Van Duser was not one to grow lax in the matter of great-grandfathers. Milton Gregory had shown alarming tendencies of late, a distressing affair with Miss Popham's seamstress, but right at the crucial point in the young man's career, parental influence had come into play. Mrs. Vanjouza breathed deep contentment as she rapidly reviewed her own part

in the invincible workings of karma. The girl had been amenable to the higher voice of reason. There had been no foolish tears, no recriminations, except of course on the part of that very common person, her mother. On her own plane of life, Genevieve Parsons had acquitted herself with credit. She had actually approved the girl's self-control and her spirit too.

It had been admirable. And she had saved her son from a frightful mesalliance by the promptness and unswerving firmness with which she had performed her own duty in the matter. Mrs. Van Duser had not once alluded to her own recent experience with Cosmic Law at the club that afternoon.

Such a course would have been indelicate, but the consciousness of her success had lent a serene and compelling majesty to her mean and utterances as she dwelt upon the basic relations of motherhood to karma. Dear Gregory was enjoying himself with well-bred persons of his own class

in a country house in Kent. Mrs. Van Dew's social circle was wide, its circumference even including a few titles on the other side of the water. She thought now, with a smile of maternal pride, of her darling Gregory's ingenuous good looks of his faultless wardrobe, of his prospective millions, all of which she knew would be duly appreciated

by the noble but impoverished dowager countess of Medhurst. Why should she not, possibly, within a few months, be introducing to select Boston circles? My daughter, Lady Clara van Duser, she could almost see herself, and the tall, plain, but very aristocratic English girl who had so far remained unplucked upon the ancestral tree. Dear Gregory must seize the brilliant opportunity which lay within his easy reet.

She found herself quite rigid and tense in her chair with the mental effort of transmitting her ideas telepathically to dear Gregory. Then Fiffin appeared at her elbow, bearing a tray with a cup of bion which her mistress always partook of just before dressing. Mrs. Van Dues aroused herself to take her. take the cup from the maid's hand. Has Mr. Van Duser come in yet, Fiffin, she asked. And are there any letters?

Yes, madam. Mr. Van Duser is in his dressing-room, Madame, replied the girl. I shall ask Parkinson for the letters. Mrs. Van Duser seldom asked for her mail before dressing for dinner. It was her habit to examine it by the cold light of morning, in an apartment devoted to correspondence and the higher pursuit of literature. as embodied in various club papers on a wide variety of themes but to-night she wanted to hear from her son darling gregg she apostrophised him mentally had he made the acquaintance of lady clara hercombe was calmer going to be kind she willed that it would be but there was no letter from dear gregory perhaps it was too soon to expect one after his cablegram announcing a safe arrival in liverpool

she glanced carelessly through the heap of envelopes bills invitations letters from needy persons and here was one from innisfield the rather unformed and timid hand announced it unopened as coming from philura rice mrs van duser laid it upon the pile of unopened envelopes relegated to her later consideration surely filiora rice could have no adequate reason for further addressing so distant a relative as Mrs. Van Duser? A letter, as that majestic person occasionally informed certain presuming, and of course needy persons of her acquaintance. A letter, which is neither necessary nor agreeable, is in effect an unwarrantable intrusion, not less so indeed than the rude pushing in of an uninvited guest. Mrs. Van Duser had not invited correspondence on the part of Filiora Rice. beyond those suitable acknowledgments of her bounty,

which reached her from time to time as occasion required, she continued to eye Miss Fulura's modest letter with a stern and rebuking gaze. Fulura deserved and should listen to the aphorism concerning uninvited correspondence at the earliest opportunity. For the present, her letter should remain, as it deserved, unread and unnoticed.

And yet, do insensate letters. as emanate their information like ronch and rays, piercing the futile defences of enfolding paper and sealed envelopes. What was there about that small oblong envelope of yellowish white paper addressed in faded ink in a timid, unformed hand, which again and yet again drew the reluctant gaze of the great lady, and which finally impelled those jewelled fingers to open it? In point of fact, Mrs. J. Mortimer Van Duser, having finished her wee on, handed the cup to her maid, and reached for Miss Fullura's letter. Dear Cousin Caroline, she read,

you may imagine my surprise and pleasure at seeing dear Cousin Gregory. What? murmured Mrs. Van Duser, arching her brows, and majestically replacing her eyeglasses. The woman must have lost her mind. He is looking very well, and I had the great honour and pleasure of entertaining him at tea on Wednesday. Absurd, commented dear Gregory's mother. Had she not received a cablegram scarcely two weeks ago,

announcing his safe arrival in Liverpool, how then could he be taking tea with Fulura Rice in Innesfield? Of course, Cousin Gregory has written you of his intended marriage, which he tells me, some sort of an articulate sound burst from Mrs. Van Dew's lips at this point, point. She read the remaining words of the letter with a single comprehensive glance. Then she rose to her feet, her wonted majesty of deportment giving place to haste and agitation. Fifeen, she calls sharply, my travelling dress and motoring wraps, and tell Parkins to order the touring car at once.

We, madame, already the limousine waits. I said the touring car. It makes better time. quickly girl my high-laced shoes of that artful designing creature after all my payings she must have mrs van duser was herself pulling open bureau drawers and placing various toilet articles in a small travelling bag as the latter unintelligible word fell from her lips five minutes later she was being hooked into a broadcloth gown of severe and uncompromising lines when the door opened and Mr. J. Mortimer Van Duser stood upon the threshold. He was in full evening dress and he held an open letter in his hands. For an instant he gazed in astonished silence at his august consort, who appeared to have suddenly lost the dignity and poise for which she was so justly celebrated.

My dear Caroline, he said dubiously. May I inquire? Mrs. Van Juser phased him, twitching herself out of the hands of the curious maid. You may go, Fifeen, pack some sandwiches and a thermos bottle of hot coffee. I shall not wait to dine. But my dear, expostulated Mr. Van Duser, coming into the room and closing the door behind him. What does this mean? Surely you, John, cried Mrs. Van Duser, with an alarming wildness in her eyes,

from which the gold-rimmed glasses had fallen like scales, as it were. John, I have just had a letter from Fuliora Rice, and she says Gregory is in his field, and he's going to be married to that seamstress, but I shall save him yet. Um, would you mind sitting down quietly, and, um, sitting down, quietly did you say john i wonder at you i shall go to innisfield and bring my poor boy home with me nothing shall prevent me but my dear i must insist when john vanjuser spoke in that tone which it must be owned had been seldom of late to his wife at least he was sure to be obeyed mrs van duser paused in the act of tying

a motoring bonnet under her massive chin and gazed at her husband. Her eye caught sight of the familiar handwriting on the sheet which he was deliberately unfolding. Has he, has Gregory written? She asked. If you will take that thing off your head and sit down quietly, I'll read what he says, was Mr. Vanduza's reply. Mrs. Vanduza sat down upon the extreme verge of a chair in a rigid and uncompromising attitude. She did not remove the motor bonnet. You are not, said Mr. Van Duser, going to Innesfield tonight. There was nothing controversial in his tone,

but an immense, though calm conviction. Oh, is it too late, John? Too late? Yes, my dear. To my way of thinking, it's gone beyond you. Oh, married all right. ready. Filura said, oh, she actually had the impertinence to ask us to stop with her if we came, as she hoped we would, to Greg's wedding to that artful designing. Be careful, my dear. You're talking about your future daughter-in-law, Mr. Van Duser warned her. He was actually smiling.

John, how can you? demanded his wife. If it is not too late, I can. I can. I can. and will prevent sit down carrie sit down now let me read what the boy has to say for himself and without further preamble he began to read but unluckily in a tone so low that pfine flattening her small pink ear against the keyhole could scarcely hear a word oh mon dieu she cried when describing the scene below stairs to a circle of admiring auditors never have i seen the madam like that she sit down when he says sit down she keep quiet when he tell her keep quiet she listened to him without words mon dieuress it is a miracle in his carefully modulated voice john van duser was reading his son's letter to the mother of his son gregory had written on this wise in a dashing hand and with great extravagance in the use of ink which here and there exploded in splatters and blots dear dad read john vanduza i am writing to you instead of to mother because i believe you'll understand me better than she will at any rate i can and will speak to you as man to man when mother shipped me off to europe i suppose she thought of me as a small boy caught stealing jam in her preserve closet all she had to do was put me to bed without supper and lock the closet door i let her think so for i wanted time to cool off and to let my darling girl get over the hurts mother had inflicted upon her she at least had no idea that she was stealing anybody's preserves so i went to liverpool of course i came back to

directly and I found her and myself too I think we are to be married tomorrow at Cousin Filurus she's a brick Genevieve and I both love her and so is her minister he demurred a bit about marrying us but when I had convinced him that we were both of age and knew our own minds he consented now don't imagine that we're going to come home to be taken care of we're going to live right here in Innisfield it's a bully little place and we both like it. I'm going on working in the trimmer emporium. I get eight dollars a week and I'll jolly old trimmer up into making it ten.

And besides, there's the five hundred a year from grandmother's bequest. We'll have no trouble getting on. I hope you and mother will come to see us married. I'd feel better about it. And so would my darling girl. But whether you will or not, tomorrow we'll find your affectionate son Gregory Van Duser the happiest man alive. There was a silence which could be felt in the room as John Van Duser read the last words of his son's letter.

He folded the sheet and returned it to its envelope. I telegraphed our congratulations, he said slowly, his eyes on his wife's rigid face. End of chapter 11. Chapter 12 of Miss Villora wedding gown by Florence Morse Kingsley. This Librevox recording is in the public domain. Mrs. Van Duser seemed to come to life at this. Our congratulations, she repeated.

Our congratulations indeed. Oh no, John! I must decline to enter into any such collusion even with you. I can never... Mr. Van Duser drew a chair to his wife's side and deliberately passed his arm about her substantial waste. He was calm and smiling. Now, Carrie, he began,

I don't want you to make a fool of yourself, and I'm not going to allow it. His tone was pleasant, and his grey eyes were actually twinkling. But Caroline P. Van Duser was interiorly convinced of the truth of his words. She answered him in the deepest, most retunned tone, of her platform voice. My dear John, she said majestically,

I think you forget yourself. These words addressed to any other individual would not have failed of their result. A blighted human being would have slunk, one uses the word advisedly, slunk quietly and unobtrusively away from the jovian glance of Caroline P. Van Dewes's eyes and blessed the opportunity

of so slinking, but John Van Duser took not the slightest notice of his wife's remark. Instead, he tightened the clasp of his arm about her waist and said quite simply and unaffectedly. I never told you before, Carrie, but I am going to now. My mother didn't want me to marry you. She set up quite a row about it, in fact. He appeared to relapse into reverie. What? What?

stammered the lady in the motoring bonnet. Your mother objected. Either the idea or the heat of the room appeared oppressive, for she untied the mammoth structure of fur and velvet and cast it from her. That's right, Carrie, Mr. Van Duser said kindly. Better take your coat off, too.

I don't believe it, cried Mrs. Van Duser. Wasn't I a pea-body? Oh, you were certainly born of that illustrious name, Mr. Van Duser conceded. But you had no money, while Abbey Decker had four thousand dollars in her own right. Enough to buy a house with, as my dear mother faithfully pointed out to me, in season and out of season. Abbey Decker, repeated Mrs. Van Duser. Abbey Decker! By John, she...

I didn't love Abidecker, he told her, and I did love Carrie Peabody. I had it out with my mother along that line and I won. I told her I was poor, but I didn't intend to stay so, that I didn't need Abidecker's $4,000 and never should, but I did need and would have Carrie Peabody. But John, your mother never saw. so much has hinted anything of the sort to me i always thought you always thought yourself of most welcome addition to the family exactly so my dear carrie put in john van duser my mother was a sensible woman in the main and she knew me well enough to understand her duty towards you i guess she wasn't sorry in the long run recalling the pampered old lady swayed

in costly furs and sparkling with the diamonds she loved, Mrs. Van Duser silently agreed with him. But John, she said, this time without a trace of her platform manner, this seamstress is a very ordinary sort of person, and her mother, she finished with an undisguised shudder. I went to see Mrs. Parsons today, her husband said slowly. Greg's letter came by the morning post And I've been rather

Well, busy since To tell you the truth, Carrie There isn't a shadow of anything derogatory Against the girl They're quite poor people So will we, don't forget it The girl has a fair education She is beautiful, industrious

And the mother told me there Was a Peabody cousin somewhere back On the father's side and his great-grandfather's brother-in-law was a Winthrop. So, there you have it. Greg loves her, and he's going to marry her tomorrow, whether we are there with a blessing or not. If we are not,

John Van Duser paused to eye his wife fixedly. To his astonishment, he saw not the Mrs. J. Mortimer Van Duser, the august partner of his later years, the radioactive sense, of various clubs and boards of management, and foremost in the steadily increasing ranks of fashionable suffragetists, no, all these majestic and truly awe-inspiring attributes

appear to have dropped away like the motor cloak, which lay upon the floor. What he saw was a rather stout woman, past middle age, but looking every inch the mother of his son. Her eyes sought his own appealingly, almost humbly. Oh, if we don't go, you think Greg, we should lose him, he said, and really, my dear.

A beautiful daughter, distantly related to yourself and the Winthrop's. What couldn't you make of her? Mrs. Van Duser heaved a deep sigh. Her eyes became reminiscent. Her manner, she mused, was really distinct. I thought so at the time, and her figure properly gowned, well, yes. John Van Duser drew her into both arms and kissed her on hesitating lips. That's my sensible, Carrie. I knew you'd see it.

We'll go down tomorrow and dine with Fuliora after the young folks have gone on their honeymoon. Mrs. Van Duser lay supinely against his shoulder. I don't seem able to resist anything, even to dining with forlura Rice, she said weekly. But John, surely we can't allow Greg to live in Innesfield and go on working for that Bimmer person. Small shopkeeping is so vulgar and the poor things couldn't exist on the absurd figures Gregory mentioned. Oh yes, they could, asserted John Van Dewzer cheerfully. we lived on less and you did the cooking and washed the dishes my word i'd like one of your pies occasionally now if i could get it but i'll tell you carrie i've looked into that trimmer business i found the proprietor a decent fellow very much in need of capital he's got a fair start over all competitors and in the end i decided not to make milt one of them he paused to chuckle to himself

milt inquired his wife sitting up and beginning to replace her loosened hairpins he that's what trimmer calls gregory he told her here you milt and down and put coal on the furnace he quoted it won't hurt him not a bit of it and he knows it the young rascal i could bring her out this winter said mrs van duser and if gregory wants to work why not take him in with you john van deuser's smote his knee with his flattened palm. Let him go his own gait, I say, Carrie. It will make a man of him as nothing else will. And they need to be alone together, in their own nest. Just as we were, my dear, in where I sometimes look back to as the happiest days of my life. Mrs. Van Duser arose to the full height of her majestic figure.

John, she said solemnly, i shall teach gregory's wife how to make pie crust properly end of chapter twelve chapter thirteen of miss philura's wedding-gown by florence morse kingsley this librivox recording is in the public domain happily unaware of the crucial hour upon which depended much of their future peace and happiness young gregory van duser and genevieve parsons sat in malvina bennett's dingy little sitting-room with with its base burner, its centre table covered with a cheneal table spread, its crayon presentments of departed Bennet's, and its kerosene lamp, illumining the blonde head of Genevieve drooped over the white stuff in her lap. There had been no question whatever as to what Genevieve should be married in. You are going to stand up in a white dress, Genevieve, Malvina Bennett had said.

I can throw it together in two jerks of a lamb's tail. and anyway, Filler of Rice's goods ain't come yet. I'll bet she'll have to be married in her black and purple. Miss Bennett had marched straight to the Trimmer Emporium, where she had cheerfully expended the whole of a ten-dollar bill on breaths of shimmering white silk and several yards of the useful lace known as German Val.

It was upon this creation that Genevieve was putting certain deft Parisian touches, learned of Miss Popham. I wish, said Gregory fervently, that you'd put away that sewing and look at me. Genevieve looked at him over the airy stuff in her lap. Demure dimples played about her lips. She looked as distractingly lovely as a beautiful girl May when sewing her wedding gown

in the presence of the man she will marry on the morrow. Gregory promptly lost his head, with results which may be imagined. couldn't malvina finish it he begged she couldn't finish what i'm doing the girl told him and exhibited with pride the embroidery she was setting here and there upon the garment he felt in his pocket and presently produced a piece of yellow paper i want you to see father's telegram you see everything's all right dear she read the scrawl a sweet gravity on her young face i was afraid your mother would never forgive us she said but it says hearty congratulations from mother and self will be with you to-morrow he sent it right off the bat exulted gregory soon as he got my letter i tell you my dad is a brick so is mother when you come to know her but i'll confess i was a bit surprised to have her come around without a protest her swift glance swive warned him to forbear. He had been about to confide to her the maternal ambitions concerning

Lady Clara. Instead, he said, well, shall we keep house or bored when we come back? Oh, keep house, of course, she told him. I can do everything. He gazed at her with adoring awe. We shall only have what I earn and grandmother's money. It won't be much. Do you suppose we can do it? What do you say, Genevieve? She cast him a delicious glance of patronage over the white stuff in her lap. I'm used to being poor, even if you aren't. We shall have everything we need. Have you a piece of paper? He felt about in his pocket and produced a half-sheet of letter paper, folded once across. Put down first, rent, twenty dollars, she commanded. He gazed at her incredulously.

Malvina only pays seventeen for this, she said crisply. And we can't afford more. All right, he agreed. I'd rather live here with you than anywhere else without you. Now what? I know you'll be hungry and want a lot to eat, but we'll have a garden and some fruit trees, she went on, a little pucker between her brown eyes.

So we'll say food, 40. you mean forty a week eh yeah i guess that's about the figure i mean a month she corrected him with a gentle superiority born of experience then we'll have forty left for clothes fuel amusement church travelling and well everything else little things one doesn't think of you know contingencies murmured gregory setting down the forty-dollar in his meagre row of figures and eyeing it contemplatively then he passed the sheet over to the girl who surveyed it her pretty head on one side we shan't have a bit of trouble on that she asserted hopefully she turned the bit of paper over and glanced at the other side what what he was looking over her shoulder and incidentally dropping an occasional kiss on her bright hair oh that he said it's a scriptural curiosity i picked it up in the store the other day the lord is my shepherd i shall not want ten yards of white silk with linings read the girl craig it's a shopping list read me the rest herege perhaps you will tell me what it means two white petticoats i'd like one to be trimmed with an embroidered ruffle she obeyed him

four pairs of good stockings one white pair please three n g's one very pretty trimmed with lace a warm cloak i'd love to have a fur collar on it and thank you for everything all things are mine isn't that a unique document gregory demanded and what if one may inquire is an n g i've always translated that particular combination of letters into no good but it doesn't appear to work out when trimmed with lace but genevieve was not even smiling instead something very like a mist dimmed her bright eyes as she looked up at him oh gregg she said her voice vibrating between tears and laughter don't you understand this is a shopping list but it's not meant for your eyes nor mine that dear little miss philura wrote it it's her handwriting and her letter paper i've seen both well he commented stupidly why should my dear old cousin mix her metaphors in such a remarkable way isn't that first line out of the bible oh course it is gregg she hasn't any money poor dear to buy these things so she he grasped the idea without further elucidation by jove he cried saring at the paper. It's a draft on the encircling good. Is that what you mean?

She talked to me about it, murmured the girl. She said you were in it, the encircling good, I mean, and that everything would come right if I only believed. I know, Greg, I didn't believe anything could change your mother after what she said to me. But something did you see. And we are so happy. I'm blessed if I won't play the part, declared young Gregory, some moments later, during which no embroidery stitches were added to the wonder in her lap. Will you mean? I'll honour the draft. You buy the things, dear. You know what she'll like, and we'll give them to her. The girl shook her head. Oh, I shouldn't like her to know we'd seen this, she said slowly. Besides, we don't know exactly what she'd like.

the cloak with the fur collar it would have to be fitted well suppose i shove some money under the door that's a bully way to do it when you can't come right out with it just seal it in an envelope and the bride-to-be suddenly caught his eager face between her two hands i have it gregg she cried we'll rent miss fulliora's cottage she'll be going to the parsonage to live and won't want it any more it's a good Great little place, he approved. Apple trees in the backyard and a hen house. Oh, I'll dig the garden all right. And you shall egg on the hens to furnishing us with lots of custards and omelets. We'll do it. And I'll pay six months in advance.

And that'll take care of that blessed little woman's wants. End of chapter 13. Chapter 14 of Miss Villura's Weddingown by Florence Morse Kingsley. this Librevovoc's recording is in the public domain. Miss Villura never forgot that particular Saturday, the one just before her marriage, the Reverend Silas Petitbone, for on that day, several of God's purposes,

which had long persisted in the bud, suddenly unfolded before the little lady's astonished eyes. The day began early, long before the light, in fact, for the house must be swept and dusted, and scrubbed and polished as never before, in honour of the wedding which was to take place under its roof that day. To think of dear Gregory, she mused, and that lovely Genevieve, how happy they will be.

And Cousin Caroline and Mistiff and Euser, she had never ventured to cousin, that awful personage. They had not appeared to be at all angry. They were coming to the wedding. They would dine with her. never in her wildest dreams could she have thought of anything so surprising at six thirty as she carefully wiped down the attic stairs one could never tell where guests might wish to go her mind reverted for a fleeting instant to the white wedding garment of her imaginings it had not emerged from the encircling good and miss philura's eyes wore a wondering troubled expression could it be possible that she had allowed fleshly and carnal desires to carry her away. The Apostle Paul certainly mentions such sins. The lust of the flesh,

the lust of the eyes, the pride of life. She had deliberately avoided certain passages of the Pauline epistles in her scripture reading of late. How, she secretly wondered, could the apostle Paul understand a woman's heart and a woman's desires? He had refused marriage, though undeniably he had boasted that he might marry if he was. wanted to. And he had supposed the world was coming to an end in his day. It had not come to an end in the Pauline Eapok, for here was Miss Fulioura, painstakingly removing imaginary dust from the attic stairs, and thinking about the white dress which remained inexorably hid from her eyes. Maybe it was Genevieve's dress I was thinking about all the time, she told herself, with a faint renunciatory sigh.

I'd rather she have it if there's only one dress there. I shan't mind wearing the black and purple brigade. Perhaps it will be more suitable. She presently forgot all about the Apostle Paul as remotely related to wedding dresses in the fervour of her labours. At eight o'clock she had worked her way through the upstairs bedrooms

and was just beginning the searching quest for dust along the edges of the front stair carpet when she heard a loud imperative knock at the back door. it would be the milkman she concluded with the half pint of milk which to-day must be increased to a quart in view of the guests she had intrepidly undertaken to entertain she hastily opened the door to confront the butterwoman this ain't my regular day i know apologise haldah as she deliberately stepped in and deposited a basket on the table think sigh maybe she could use an extra foul seen as twas t'was her last saturday at home So I just jumped in my wagon and come down the hill. Miss Fuliora's face was glorified with surprised colour. Did you know?

Had you heard I was going to have a wedding here today, she asked? A wedding? The butterwoman's broad smile suddenly faded. Well, I thought, didn't you tell me you was going to be married Thanksgiving Day? You said so. Oh, I am to be married Thanksgiving Day. this is my cousin's wedding and so unexpected and his father and mother coming from boston and i invited them to dinner and malvina told me last night genevieve's mother is coming too hmm got anybody help you inquired halder briskly i should think you'd need somebody to take a hold malvina's going to do what she can but of course she's busy with genevieve and the butterwoman removed her blanket

all. Well, here I be stout and willing. Just tell me what, and I'll whirl in and do it. You look all beat out already, and I don't believe you've put on an ounce of fat since I was here last. Land, you remind me of a hen I had once. I couldn't no more fatten her up than I could flesh up the wind, always on the go. But I fixed her, shut her up in a coop where there wasn't nothing else to take up her mind. You ought to have seen her eat. The butterwoman unrolled a gingham apron and tied it about her substantial waste.

I kind of thought I could find something to do today, she observed complacently. I get lonesome up to my house long about this time of the year, and I admire it to help you out if you say so. How'd you like a chicken pie for dinner? You bet I can make a good one. Miss Villiora breathed a deep sigh of relief. The central dish of that particular dinner had lain heavily upon her soul,

since she had so rashly proffered her hospitality. Chicken pie, with plenty of good, rich cream gravy, mashed potatoes, and boiled onions. I fetched a few, thinking maybe you could use them. And what for dessert, eh? Oh, I prepared sponge cake and lemon jelly yesterday, tweeted Miss Villiore. I thought, and I'll whip up a pint of cream. That'll go all right. Now, I guess I'll put chicken over a gentle simmer-like while I scrub up.

But your horse? Oh, he's blanketed and sound asleep on two legs already. I got to run out, though, and fetching something from the wagon. There something was a flat, oblong parcel wrapped in newspaper, which holder brought in under her apron and deposited on the, chair in the corner of the kitchen i don't want you should look at it till after i'm gone she said turning her broad back on miss foliura and speaking through the sacrificial smoke of the singing chicken if i ain't done right you can let me know most any time and there ain't no arm done any fleeting curiosity which miss valura might properly have experienced was speedily swept away by the unrushing flood of events at ten o'clock came in young gregory van to unfold to Miss Fulura his plan for renting her cottage.

Don't tell me you've disposed of it already, he begged. Genevieve has set her heart on living here. Miss Fulura gazed at him incredulously. Living here, she echoed, you can't mean that you would think of, why not, he urged. I've always liked it since I had that bully little supper with you. Why didn't you tell me straight off?

that you knew my darling girl there was a shadow of reproach in his honest eyes i was so taken by surprise murmured miss filura with a propitiatory smile and your dear mother i couldn't think what my duty was just at first you know then mr pettibone came in and you i thought i should like to ask his advice in so serious a matter young gregory smiled upon her almost pitiingly so you fancied you would take sides with mother eh oh no my dear surely not i only and what did the minister say he said at once i had no right to keep genevieve from you he thought i should have told you ah bully for silas cried gregory irreverently i'll go to church from now on with the regularity of a hallowed saint you'll see miss philura wiped her eyes i am so glad she said quite unaffectedly but the house may we have it just as it is please miss philura hesitated i hadn't thought about renting it she said of course i have lived here all my life and it is a very well-built house but it wants a few repairs i dare say oh yes you'd have to be very careful about emptying the pans on the attic floor every time it rained. There are four of them, and the oilcloth round the chimney has to be wiped up every day when there's snow on the roof. Besides, well, he suggested hopefully. I guess we could cope with the roof in one way or another.

What else? Miss Villura shook her head. I'm so used to living here, she said gently. But I'm afraid you wouldn't know how to shut the side door at night. you have to lift it just a little on the hinges before you lock it then there's the pantry window it has to be stuffed with paper in very cold weather because it's a little loose on one side all right i guess we could get along with the pantry window he said confidently is it a go cousin miss villiura's blue eyes wore an introspective look i don't believe you could manage the broken water-pipe at the back door the way i do she said I have to be very careful with pails, keeping them emptied, you know. I remember one time I was in Boston over three nights, and Malvina Bennett, who had promised to attend to it in case of rain, quite forgot. And when I arrived, there was a foot of water in the cellar.

One could have a new pipe, offered Gregory. You wouldn't mind, I suppose? I hadn't thought of that. Oh, but repairs have been quite out of the question. you know and one can manage quite nicely if accustomed to a house will you trust us to live in it if we promise to take the best kind of care of everything give you a lease with everything down in black and white rent payable in advance twice a year oh my dear i couldn't think of asking rent of one of my own relatives and cousin caroline always the soul of kindness if you and genevieve could be happy here and it's really a very good house, very well-built and so comfortable, I shall be only too glad to have you here. Gregory Van Duser shook his head decidedly.

Couldn't think of it on those terms, Coznphiliora. Now, look here. We've got to rent some house, and we can't afford to pay much. So why not this one? You've got a jolly little garden and a hen-house. I have no chickens, she interrupted plaintively. and the windows are quite destroyed i fear i was so sure you'd say yes that i brought the lease we want to come back to a home genevieve and i won't you look at it please and sign right here miss philura gazed distractedly at the legal-looking document he spread before her then all in a flutter she reached for her pen but he expostulated you haven't even looked at it

it never sign your name to anything you don't read carefully first it was a tremulous little signature she affixed after five minutes given to diligent study of the document are you satisfied that we aren't doing you he asked judiciously we want everything ship-shape and legal you know with that he took a roll of bills from his pocket and laid it on the table just six months rent please receipt for it cousin and he shoved a form across the table with a strictly business air there now we've got a roof over our heads hurray and he seized the day's little lady and whirled her about in a mad dance of triumph we'll take care of everything repair when necessary and pay it regular if we don't you can evict us see the terms of the lease was his parting word as he hurried away why oh murmured miss filiora with dazzled eyes as she counted the bills then she hugged them to her breast in a rapture of gratitude and to think it had never occurred to me i could rent my house for so much money the encircling good she concluded was filled with kind thoughts travelling from heart to heart and for flowering in a beautiful and unexpected way the rest of that surprising day was like its beginning at eleven came a great hamper from the local florist just a few dozen roses ma'am explained the man who brought it and a bit of green for the mantles and such and i'm to fix em if you please at a quarter to twelve arrived mr and mrs j mortimer van duser from boston in their limousine which appeared to

taxed to its utmost capacity by the boxes and bundles which the footman brought into the house a few wedding gifts for dear gregory and genevieve explained mrs vanjuser graciously though it was evident that the name of her daughter-in-law to be came hard and mr van duser thought as your own wedding was so near we might bring our gifts to you there was no time for the busy little hostess to tell you take a single peep into the boxes marked with her own name for the minister was already coming up the walk and not ten minutes behind him came gregory van duser with the sweetest girl in the world wrapped in a great furred coat against the cold miss philura caught herself holding her breath with painful intensity as she opened the hospitable old door hers no longer to the young couple and it must be owned that even the puissant mrs vanjouza momentarily shrank from the imminent meeting with the girl whom she had last seen standing proud and pale in the shabby front room of the shabby house in East Boston. The girl had won,

and Mrs. Van Duser couldn't help stiffening a little after her old or inspiring fashion when she greeted Genevieve amid the pink roses and trailing greenery which had transformed Miss Filura's little parlour into a veritable bridal bar. But Mr. J. Mortimer, van duser miss philura glowed with shame at the sight of the grey cat placidly stroking his whiskers by the fire how could she have called him mortimer in a spirit of sinful reprisal this was a new species of vanjouza knew at least to miss this was the john van deuser who had triumphantly wooed and won carry peabody long ago and afterwards everything else in sight worth having few people knew him now

even his wife had half forgotten that such a genial tactful altogether agreeable person existed it was all over quickly even the dinner at which miss philura found herself entertaining the whole company don't you worry a mite was the butterwoman's exhortation i've got plenty for all comers and that there young fellow that come with the ice scream and things is going to wait on table he says he's used to doing it and he certainly does take a whole good it was all a part of the dream and by this time miss filiora had given herself without reserve to the sweeping current of pleasant surprises which appeared to flow out of the invisible filling all the meagre chariola filling all the meagre child of her life to overflowing at four o'clock the butterwoman was pinning her heavy shawl about her well i guess i'll be goin along she said you must be about beat out with all the doings but want that girl a pitt her a standing up to be married i peaked in the door and i seen it all and the old folks they was looking at both of em i had to laugh at that big upstanding lady she didn't want to call cry, but she couldn't no more help it than nothing. Well, I washed up everything. But maybe I ain't put things in their right places.

You can do that when you get rested. No, I'm a going along. But Miss Fullura had seized both the brown hands in her own. Dear Hald her, she said, I couldn't have done it alone. I didn't know they were all going to stay. I hadn't dishes enough, or spoons and forks. where did you get those pretty sprigged plates oh them oh the young fellow from boston fetched him he was a real clever chap and he said my chicken pie and mashed potatoes went ahead of everything he ever tasted his name was tom the butterwoman opened the door suddenly i'm glad i come she said in a curiously smothered voice i wouldn't have missed it and if you don't

what's in that box i'll take it away next time i come good-bye you know his filura heaved a long sigh of mingled relief and weariness when she found herself once more alone in the little house there was a scent of roses in the air and the glamour of romance and happiness still lingered about the quiet rooms once so sombre and desolate and then remembering the butterwoman's words she lifted the oblong parcel which had lain all day on on a chair in the kitchen and carried it to the window where the red light of the westering sun streamed in. A stout string secured the newspaper wrappings and to this was pinned a scrap of paper on which Haldah had written in her cramped handwriting. Miss Fuluriam, once I was going to be married, it was to be on Thanksgiving Day, but he got drowned at sea and never came back. So I kept the dress all these. years tom bought it for me in london if you wear it i'll be happy miss filiola lifted the lid of shining dark wood all set with buds and leaves of mother-of-pearl and the imperishable odour of roses long dead floated out to mingle with the fragrance of the bridal blooms beneath the wrappings of silken tissue lay something softly white like the petals of christmas of christmas of christmas of christianism

sancholums lapping over a heart of gold miss philura touched it with tremulous fingers then she took it from the box and the rich creamy satin flowed all about her to the floor and so malvina bennet came upon her unaware when she quietly opened the door i just run over it began miss bennet then she stopped short with uplifted hands moy moye your goods is come at last ain't it and just in the nick of time miss philura gazed at her old friend through a glorified mist of tears she was thinking though she did not tell malvina so that her bridal dress was truly a holy garment since it had been the gift of a pure affection cherished long with love and tears and at last bestowed whole-heartedly upon herself malvina would have been sure to find an omen of ill clinging to the gift of the long dead bridegroom but then malvina hated to see the moon over her left shoulder and attributed her chronic rheumatism to a careless observance of the weighty saying see a pin and pick it up all the day you'll have good luck see a pin and leave it lay bad luck will follow you all the day oh it's the handsomest thing i ever seen in all my life declared miss bennet quite oblivious of the fact that filura rice heard not a word of her approving comments i'll make it up into a perfectly plain princess it don't need a mite of trimmin end of chapter fourteen chapter fifteen of miss philura's wedding-gown by florence morse kingsley this librivox recording is in the public domain that same evening the rev silas pettibone sat alone in his study

there was belated work to be done on the Sunday sermons but for once the minister's trained mind refused to obey him he was thinking with a worried frown that this was the Saturday evening he had specified in his conversation with Elder Trimmer as the date on which half the amount of salary must be paid he recalled his own words with regret realizing that he had acted under the urge of a strong and unwonted impulse at the time his course had appeared right and proper but more than once since he had experienced uncomfortable qualms of doubt should he be compelled to take the matter up in presbyterial conclave as he had distinctly threatened to do what would be the outcome for himself he was perilously near the deadline as some zealous advocate of the young man in the pulpit idea has termed fifty years what if he had taken the bull by the horns only to be tossed on one side in the struggle should he lose his pulpit in innisfield through any ill-advised effort to collect the arrears in his salary could he with his already silvered hair obtain another and if he could not what about his approaching marriage to miss villora the thought of her warmed his chill heart like a cordial how beautiful she had looked that day all glorified as she was with the joys of service to others

not even the youthful bride in the opinion of the minister could compare with her his dismal cogitations gradually assumed a brighter tone he was not old he told him himself, even at 43, the deadline was still in the perspective. And what, after all, was the deadline? He gazed steadily at the hateful phantom, compelling its shrouded shape to shrink and dwindle into a kernel of wholesome truth. A man, and by a man Mr. Pettibone meant a preacher, a man might be dull and platitudinous at 25. He might be spiritually ossified at 30.

At 40, he might even be turning his barrel once a 12-month, compelling his congregation to subsist solely upon Dryas Dust dogma, gleaned years before from commentaries and man-made theologies. While at 50, he might be alive, forceful, panopled with the whole armour of God, wielding the sword of the spirit with mighty sinews. Yes, this was the truth. A vaunt, foolish spectre of the deadline, never again should it torment him. Through the silent house rang a sudden peal of the doorbell. After a discreet interval, he heard the shuffling step of his domestic on her way to answer it. Then followed a subdued sound of voices. Mr Pettibone arose and opened the door of his study.

Abbey Stiles sometimes took it upon herself to debarer visitors from the ministerial presence, more particularly of a Saturday evening. On this occasion, Mr. Pettibone found himself faced with a solemn delegation of five men, and for an instant his breath stopped, while his heart pounded furiously. Then with outward composure, he ushered Elder's trimmer, puffer and swan, and deacons, Scrimger and Twombly, into his study, carefully closing the door behind them, to the manifest discomfiture of Miss Stiles, who scented the unusual in this nocturnal visit. If they've come to set him, as is the salt of the earth, if ever there was salt,

I've got my opinion of them. Miss Stiles muttered darkly as she withdrew to her kitchen, and him never find him fault with anything since the day I come, and me with constant bad luck with my bread, what with the yeast souring on me? Elder Trimmer, as was right and proper, began the conversation amid a tremendous clearing of throats and flourish of Sabbath handkerchiefs. We called this evening to take up that little matter of our indebtedness to you, Mr Trimmer renounced in his best prayer-meeting tone. The Lord has been pleased to crown our efforts with a goodly measure of success. he paused dramatically and again the assembled dignitaries broke into what might be termed pious coughing a distinct variety of bronchial weakness peculiar to the sanctuary a goodly measure of success repeated mr trimmer oratorically it in short occurred to some of us that at this time of the year when peace on earth good will to men ought to prevail well we should

should not permit any laxity as it were on the walls of Zion. We have therefore put our hands to the plough, and as a result, I have the distinguished pleasure of handing you the whole amount

due you to date, and, well, a little reminder of affection for our pastor in addition. It is in the form of a cheque on our local bank. Mr Pettibone received the envelope which Mr Trim attended him with a stately inclination of the head

He had been revolving some dignified sentences relating to his personal sense of gratitude to deity That his church had been blessed in this as in other particulars But when he tried to utter these appropriate platitudes His voice quite unexpectedly failed him And he grasped the hands outstretched to meet his from all sides without a word it was deacon Scrimger who finally voiced the general feeling when he said in his high nasal tones you ain't no better pleased to get it and we

be to give it domine I guess we was getting kind of dead in trespasses and sins but you roused us up just in time praise the Lord so once again was a mountain removed and cast into the sea by that potent instrumentality known as faith, this time assuredly of the mustard seed variety. End of Chapter 15. Chapter 16 of Miss Feliora's Wedding Gown by Florence Morse Kingsley. This Librevox recording is in the public domain. It was exactly two weeks from the following Thursday when the Ladies' Aid and Missionary Society met at the parsonage for, the purpose of sewing a new carpet for the pastor's study. Painters and paper hangers had been at work in the house during the minister's absence,

and the dingy rooms had taken on a look of brightness and cleanliness pleasing to the eye. Abby Stiles, with her head swathed in a towel against dusts and drafts, was busy putting things to rights in view of the homecoming of Mr and Mrs. Pettibone. Yes, Miss Buckthorne, stated Miss Stiles, I'm going to stay right on for a spell anyhow till she gets kind of broke to harness. Mrs Buckthorn paused in the act of unrolling the long breaths of carpet to gaze darkly at Elector Pratt who was assisting her.

A hired girl, this excellent lady murmured, well, I never. I shouldn't think Mrs. Pettibone could afford it, especially now that he's married. Miss Pratt giggled girlishly. I guess you can afford most anything now, as her opinion. All Flora has to do is hold the thought. If that ain't unchristian, appined Mrs. Buckthorn,

I don't know what is. I guess the Lord of Host knows what is good for Flora Rice without any of her meddling. Mrs. Puffer, a softly round and rosy matron, with a skein of carpet thread. Oh my, wasn't she lovely? I never saw such a sweet dress. Satin as thick as cream, chimed in Sadie Buckthorne, waxing a length of thread vigorously.

Sadie Buckthorne was slim and rosy and 18. Her brown eyes sparkled defiantly as she spoke. I think Miss Fulura is just perfectly sweet, she declared, but I never can get used to calling her Mrs. Pettibone. Well, I didn't see none of it, sighed a sallow-faced woman in a black dress. I couldn't get out and know how Thanksgiving Day. My husband's mother was visiting us and she was took with one of her spells, just as I was putting on my rubbers to go.

It was just my luck. Mrs. Salter sighed heavily as she spoke. Her luck, as she called it, always. appeared to intervene between herself and any cherished purpose. But of course you've heard all about it, haven't you? asked Mrs. Puffer. Mrs. Salter shook her head sadly. There ain't been a soul near me since to tell me anything, as I said to Mother Salter this morning. If I don't break my leg on the ice this afternoon, I says,

maybe I'll get out to the lady's aid and hear the news. And I did come near slipping down right in front of the house. I'm always so unlucky. I'll tell you about the wedding, volunteered Sadie Buckthorn eagerly. She glanced about the circle of industrious women with an imperious toss of her dark head. In the first place, she began, the church was full,

even the gallery, and it looked dandy. The helping hand circle had trimmed it with evergreen, and right down in front of the pulpit was a big gilt horn of plenty, full of all sorts of fruit and vegetables. Oh, was that what it was meant for? Put in Miss Pratt with slime, Alice. I couldn't imagine. I thought perhaps it was another collection for the pasta.

The girl reaped for more thread. She longed to say something sharp and clever and scathing, but at the moment she could think of nothing. So she merely tilted up her pink chin aggressively at Miss Pratt. it was a horn of plenty she said positively whether you or anybody else recognised it it means abundance plenty of everything good and rich and nice i'm sure we all hope they'll be blessed observed mrs salter plaintively whereat two or three of the older women wiped their eyes there was plenty of sermon anyway pursued the lively miss buckthorn the men minister from newton preached and weak girls thought he'd never stop daughter intoned mrs buckthorne majestically wagging a warning finger well it was awfully long and miss philura sitting there in the pew all that while waiting did you notice the cloak she had on asked mrs scrimger from the opposite side of the room a babel of tongs up rose and the anxious mrs solace

Walter gathered with difficulty that Miss Fulura's bridal gown had been concealed from the view of the congregation till the last minute by a sumptuous fur-lined garment. It was Miss Bennett, who had just entered, who added authoritatively, that the cloak in question was the gift of Genevese Mar and Par from Boston, and it cost a hundred dollars if it cost a cent. The little dressmaker had of a sudden become a person of distinction in innisfield from the pinnacle of her greatness she cast a look of complacent superiority about the circle of workers you're a puckering that there a scene miss puffer she observed rebukingly here just you let me take a halt nobody even glanced in the direction of sadie buckthorn who was humming the immortal strains of the wedding march from lowengrin i can just tell you ladies my art was in my mawark when they come to stand up to be married declared miss marvina thinks i if that their waist wrinkles in the back i'll feel like shutting up my shop for good an all she paused a dangling length of carpet thread in one hand the better to enjoy the unwonted sensation of being the observed of all observers tain't no easy job to make a real good heavy piece of satin lay just so but land I need no worried.

It fitted her like a duck's foot in the mud. There was quiet in the room for a full minute, after Miss Bennet's last remark, while flashing needles flew in and out, and the soft staccato phrases of the wedding march roused a reminiscent tenderness in each matronly breast. Then Sadie Buckthorn spoke softly, as if still gazing at a never-to-be-forgotten vision of exquisite happiness.

Miss Villiora's wedding gown was like her, she said, and she seemed like, oh, a lovely angel just dressed for heaven. Daughter, murmured Mrs. Buckthorn with a pious upward glance. End of Chapter 16. End of Miss Filiora's Wedding gown by Florence Morse Kingsley.