break out so enthusiastically about him as he did that evening.

It was a good thing for that wedding, that it took place in fine summer
weather; for neither kith, kin, nor acquaintances had been slighted in
the invitations, and the Kinzers were one of the "oldest families."

To have gathered them all under the roof of that house, without either
stretching it out wider or boiling the guests down, would have been out
of the question; and so the majority, with Dabney in his new clothes to
keep them countenance, stood out in the cool shade of the grand old
trees during the ceremony, which was performed near the open door; and
were afterwards served with the refreshments in a style which spoke
volumes for Mrs. Kinzer's good management, as well as for her
hospitality.

The only drawback to Dab's happiness that day was that his acquaintances
hardly seemed to know him. He had had almost the same trouble with
himself, when he looked in the glass that morning.

Ordinarily, his wrists were several inches through his coat-sleeves, and
his ankles made a perpetual show of his stockings. His neck, too, seemed
to be holding his head as far as possible from his coat-collar, and his
buttons had no favors to ask of his button-holes.

Now, even as the tailor had promised, he had received his "first fit."
He seemed to himself, to tell the truth, to be covered up in a prodigal
waste of new cloth. Would he ever, ever, grow too big for such a suit of
clothes as that? It was a very painful thought, and he did his best to
put it away from him.