well-matched couple took their places at the head of the table. It would be a long story to describe the speeches made in honor of Mr. and Mrs. Weston, the healths drunk in apollinaris, and the occasional tears that fell from the eyes of Mrs. Barlow and other near relatives, as the thought came to them that all this rejoicing meant more or less sorrow in the end, as Agnes so soon must return to Europe for an indefinite stay. There was room at the table only for the older guests, and the younger people sat about in small groups on the piazza, or on chairs ranged along the wall of the dining-room. But with the long French windows open to the piazzas, they could hear what was said as well as those inside.
Finally, came the crowning event of the feast,—the cutting of the wedding cake, which had been the conspicuous decoration of one end of the flower-trimmed table. It was a real old-fashioned bride cake, with tiers and tiers of corrugated frosting, surmounted by a pagoda-like structure, within which was the tiny effigy of a bride with a flowing veil. At the corners of the cake were groups of cupids and doves, and, altogether, it is doubtful if the North Shore had ever seen a more elaborate and tempting wedding cake.
“This for the bride!” exclaimed Mr. Moffit, stepping forward, and, handing her a large silver knife, requested Agnes to cut carefully, as untold treasures were concealed within, the distribution of which might have an important effect on the destiny of several in the assembled company.
