The wedding morning was bright. A few fleecy clouds drifted out of the northwest, a sure sign of a perfect day. All portents were favourable, but in the Ryan house, confusion reigned. Katie, the power behind the throne, was busy with her own affairs, and Mrs. Ryan rushed about in her usual aimless way. Clothes had to be looked after, decorations put up, messages received and sent, and the wedding dinner prepared. Among other things missing was the butter.

"Cissy, get the churn out, we'll have to churn some butter first thing. Monica, get the cream up from the cellar, fast now, there isn't much time. I have to get the goose in the oven."

Cissy set up the churn in the middle of the kitchen floor, put the cream in, and fastened the lid on tightly. It was a barrel churn, turned by hand, and Cissy and Monica took turns, seeing who could whirl the churn fastest. In a few minutes gas built up inside, and neither child thought of releasing the pressure, though they knew about it well enough. There was a pop like a champagne cork, and the sour cream shot out, hitting floor, walls, and ceiling almost simultaneously. Monica, whose turn it was, kept whirling the churn, fascinated by the display. Her mother was frantic, but her cries went unheeded.

"For heaven's sake, child, stop that thing and get the plug back in."

"I can't see the plug, Ma." .

And this was true enough, for the plug had gone through a window, leaving a small hole as though a bullet had passed that way.

"Stick your finger in the hole, then, while I get something."

As she rammed the end of the dishcloth into the hole, Paddy made his appearance, coming from the porch. He had been making plans for the day in his armchair.

"Lord save us all, what are you women at now? I turn my back and look what happens."

"She blew, Pa, she blew," crowed Cissy happily. "Monica was turning too fast. What do we do now, Ma?"

Mrs. Ryan was beyond speech, but a cheerful voice came from the door. Mrs. Thompson from across the road entered cautiously.

"I came to see if you needed help and it looks like you do! Mr. Ryan, please don't walk around in your sock feet in that mess. Go and sit down now, there's a good man. Cecilia, get me a mop, and you, Monica, stop jumping up and down. Fetch some rags and a pail from the woodshed. Whatever were they doing, Mrs. Ryan?"

"We had to have some butter for the dinner," said Mrs. Ryan tearfully, "but everything goes wrong without Katie. This wedding will be the death of me."

"Well, my dear woman, there's lots of help here. They just need a few orders, and as for the butter I'll send home for a pound or two." Under Mrs. Thompson's benevolent tyranny the kitchen soon became passably clean. Order was swiftly restored, the goose was stuffed and put in the oven, and the children were sent away to dress for the ceremony.

It was conducted in the front room under an arch of flowers. Hod Stewart's oldest girl played the wedding march on the organ, and Katie, in a long dress with a small train, entered from the kitchen on Paddy's arm. Paddy was red in the face, but still commendably sober.

When John turned to look at her, Katie flashed him a cool glance from underneath her veil. She passed her bouquet of white moss roses to her mother, and, as they stood together in front of Mr. Grant, again there was that measuring look. This time John returned a faint smile. He still couldn't believe his good fortune; this woman at his side, this glowing creature, was to be his. The service passed in a dream.

Afterwards they all ate in the big farm kitchen. When the goose had served all those at the main table, the remainder was passed on to the children and lesser relatives, who were eating wherever they could find a place. The good Mrs. Thompson saw to it that there was enough for everybody. Besides the goose, there was cold pork and beef, bread, and great pies with buckets of freshly made ice cream. As they ate, John reminded Katie about her passion for ice cream and strawberries and was rewarded with a smile and a kiss which set the table clapping for more. A friend of Paddy's had provided hard cider dashed with moonshine, and the evening promised to be long and merry.

When they had all finished eating Mr. Grant made a speech in which he told two jokes, the same jokes he told at all his weddings, and he smiled twice - once for each joke. But nobody minded; they knew the jokes by heart and could laugh at the right places. John mumbled a reply. He, venturing no jokes, was glad to sit down, and Jim agonized with him until the few words were over. All the same, he was proud of John, proud of the slim figure and the dark handsome face and of the look of simple honesty and kindness. He wished that Janet could have been there, hut she had been afraid to attempt the trip.

"Best that you go alone, Jim," she said said. "I'm so weak I might faint and make a big fuss. Oh, I know he'll look so handsome, and I'm so happy for them." Janet had been delighted with the match. "You know, Jim, Katie is just the person for him, though she is so much younger and such a firebrand. She's had lots of beaux, but I think she's had her eye on John from away back, and he never knew it. Who is to fathom the ways of a woman?"

"Who indeed?" Jim answered, though he knew she wasn't really expecting a reply.

Paddy got to his feet and welcomed them all in glowing language. Never at a loss for words, he went on and on, reminiscing about his and Katie's mother's wedding. As he went into more and more detail, the younger guests listened enthralled, but Katie pulled at his coat-tail, "That's enough, Pa. I have to go and change. Sit down and let someone else talk." She filled his glass from the cider pitcher. "Drink up now and look to your guests, man. They'll be dry after listening to all that blather."