Hart hanging on his arm; walked slowly forward; his heart was too full to be gay; his happiness was too new; his gratitude too deep, to know what was passing; and his bride, letting in a flood of new feelings, was pondering and wondering to see the quiet, yet alert, shopman, who, for fifteen years, had frittered away the minutes in selling pennyworths of tape and needles, transformed into a man of great elevation of soul, and deep, tender feeling. "And this man is my husband," said she, casting her eyes up to his handsome countenance, which was all radiant with joy as her eye met his.
First they installed Rona in her house. Every thing that heart could wish was there, down to the minutest thing; and beautiful every thing was; for dear Jenny—see, reader, I have dropped the other name—had an exquisite taste. And then, Ida took possession of her home, exactly like her sister's, in point of beauty and completeness; but different only in fancy. Then Mrs. Armstrong was taken to her house; every thing complete, like the other two, only the furniture a thought more grave. Then the whole flock proceeded to the fourth house—it was the one for the father and mother—good, honest Martin Barton and his wife; this also was a model of comfort and beauty. The whole party stood on the steps and under the portico.
"Step in Jenny Hart—dear Jenny Campbell, now"—said Martin Barton, "step in, Archy Campbell; I have made up my mind to one thing; and that is, that I cannot let you have the thread and needle store; I have made it all over to Peter Squire and Jacob Teller."—Jacob Teller was the fifth clerk.
Jenny turned pale and Archy red—"Come this way, Hosea Bringle," said old Mr. Daly, "don't go to cry, man, you'll hear all presently—come, son and daughter, make haste, it is getting late."
"Jenny Hart, my own Jenny," said Mrs. Martin
