good in store for him for several months after Mrs. Kinzer decided to marry him to her daughter Miranda; but all was soon settled. Dab, of course, had nothing to do with the wedding arrangements, and Ham's share was somewhat contracted. Not but what he was at the Kinzer house a good deal; nor did any of the other girls tell Miranda how very much he was in the way. He could talk, however; and one morning, about a fortnight before the day appointed, he said to Miranda and her mother,—

"We can't have so very much of a wedding: your house is so small, and you've chocked it so full of furniture. Right down nice furniture it is too; but there's so much of it, I'm afraid the minister'll have to stand out in the front yard."

"The house'll do for this time," replied Mrs. Kinzer. "There'll be room enough for everybody. What puzzles me is Dab."

"What about Dab?" asked Ham.

"Can't find a thing to fit him," said Dab's mother. "Seems as if he were all odd sizes, from head to foot."

"Fit him?" exclaimed Ham. "Oh, you mean ready-made goods! Of course you can't. He'll have to be measured by a tailor, and have his new suit built for him."

"Such extravagance!" emphatically remarked Mrs. Kinzer.

"Not for rich people like you, and for a wedding," replied Ham; "and Dab's a growing boy. Where is he now? I'm going to the village, and I'll take him right along with me."

There seemed to be no help for it; but that was the first point relating to the wedding, concerning which Ham Morris was permitted to have exactly his own way. His success made Dab Kinzer a fast friend of his for life, and that was something. There was also something new and wonderful to Dabney himself, in walking into a tailor's shop, picking out cloth to please himself, and being so carefully measured all over. He stretched and stretched himself in all directions, to make sure nothing should turn out too small. At the end of it all, Ham said to him,—

"Now, Dab, my boy, this suit is to be a present from me to you, on
Miranda's account."

Dab colored and hesitated for a moment: but it seemed all right, he thought; and so he came frankly out with,—

"Thank you, Ham. You always was a prime good fellow. I'll do as much for you some day. Tell you what I'll do, then: I'll have another suit made right away, of this other cloth, and have the bill for that one sent to our folks."

"Do it!" exclaimed Ham. "Do it! You've your mother's orders for that.
She's nothing to do with my gift."

"Splendid!" almost shouted Dab. "Oh, but don't I hope they'll fit!"

"Vit," said the tailor: "vill zay vit? I dell you zay vit you like a knife. You vait und zee."

Dab failed to get a very clear idea of what the fit would be, but it made him almost hold his breath to think of it.

After the triumphant visit to the tailor, there was still a necessity for a call upon the shoemaker, and that was a matter of no small importance. Dab's feet had always been a mystery and a trial to him. If his memory contained one record darker than another, it was the endless history of his misadventures with boots and shoes. He and leather had been at war from the day he left his creeping-clothes until now. But now he was promised a pair of shoes that would be sure to fit.

So the question of Dab's personal appearance at the wedding was all arranged between him and Ham; and Miranda smiled more sweetly than ever before upon the latter, after she had heard her usually silent brother 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.

Still, it was a little hard to have a young lady, whom he had known since before she began to walk, remark to him,—

"Excuse me, sir, but can you tell me if Mr. Dabney Kinzer is here?"

"No, Jenny Walters," sharply responded Dab, "he isn't here."

"Why, Dabney!" exclaimed the pretty Jenny. "Is that you? I declare, you have scared me out of a year's growth!"

"I wish you'd scare me, then," said Dab. "Then my clothes would stay fitted."

Every thing had been so well arranged beforehand, thanks to Mrs. Kinzer, that the wedding had no chance at all except to go off well. Ham Morris was rejoiced to find how entirely he was relieved of every responsibility.

"Don't worry about your house," the widow said to him, the night before the wedding. "We'll go over there, as soon as you and Miranda get away, and it'll be all ready for you by the time you get back."

"All right," said Ham. "I'll be glad to have you take the old place in hand. I've only tried to live in a corner of it. You don't know how much room there is. I don't, I must say."

Dabney had longed to ask her if she meant to have it moved over to the Kinzer side of the north fence, but he had doubts as to the propriety of it; and just then the boy came in from the tailor's with his bundle of new clothes.

CHAPTER II.

DAB'S OLD CLOTHES GET A NEW BOY TO FIT.

Hamilton Morris was a very promising young man, of some thirty summers. He had been an "orphan" for a dozen years; and the wonder was that he should so long have lived alone in the big, square-built house his father left him. At all events, Miranda Kinzer was just the wife for him.

Miranda's mother had seen that at a glance, the moment her mind was settled about the house. As to that and his great, spreading, half-cultivated farm, all either of them needed was ready money and management.

These were blessings Ham was now made reasonably sure of, on his return from his wedding-trip, and he was likely to appreciate them.

As for Dabney Kinzer, he was in no respect overcome by the novelty and excitement of the wedding-day. All the rest of it, after the departure of Ham Morris and the bride, he devoted himself to such duties as were assigned him, with a new and grand idea steadily taking shape in his mind. He felt as if his brains too, like his body, were growing. Some of his mother's older and more intimate friends remained with her