“My ward, Lascelles knows how to talk to ‘em,” says Jack Dawson. “He’s given that girl a whip that makes her brighten up. What a chap he is: you can’t lick him.”

“Pretty fair all round, I should say,” says the other brother, Bill. “Hullo! are we to go on the platform with the parson and the rest of ‘em?”

The reason was that as we went up the church all together, all in a heap, with the Barneses and the bride, they thought we must be related to ‘em; and the church being choke-full they shunted us on to the place inside the rails, where we found ourselves drafted into the small yard with the bridegroom, the bride, the parson, and all that mob.

There wasn’t much time to spare, what with the racing and the general bustle of the day. The miners gave a sort of buzz of admiration as Bella and Maddie and the others came up the aisle. They looked very well, there’s no manner of doubt. They were both tallish girls, slight, but well put together, and had straight features and big bright eyes, with plenty of fun and meaning in ‘em. All they wanted was a little more colour like, and between the hurry for time and Bella getting married, a day’s work that don’t come often in anyone’s life, and having about a thousand people to look at ‘em, both the girls were flushed up a good deal. It set them off first-rate. I never saw either of them look so handsome before. Old Barnes had come down well for once, and they were dressed in real good style—hadn’t overdone it neither.