to catch a glimpse of the paternal minister marching upstairs with a grave countenance, and a wine-bottle under each arm.
“Upon my word, here’s a state of things!” cried the old lady, taking the seat of honor prepared for her, and settling the folds of her lavender moire with a great rustle. “You oughtn’t to be seen till the last minute, child.”
“I’m not a show, aunty, and no one is coming to stare at me, to criticise my dress, or count the cost of my luncheon. I’m too happy to care what anyone says or thinks, and I’m going to have my little wedding just as I like it. John, dear, here’s your hammer;” and away went Meg to help “that man” in his highly improper employment.
Mr. Brooke didn’t even say “Thank you,” but as he stooped for the unromantic tool, he kissed his little bride behind the folding-door, with a look that made Aunt March whisk out her pocket-handkerchief, with a sudden dew in her sharp old eyes.