Brede. But the
ostracized woman, as though she felt the deep humiliation of her
position, turned sharply away, and opened her parasol to shield her
eyes from the sun. A shower of rice--a half-pound shower of rice--fell
down over her pretty hat and her pretty dress, and fell in a
spattering circle on the floor, outlining her skirts--and there it lay
in a broad, uneven band, bright in the morning sun.
Mrs. Brede was in my wife's arms, sobbing as if her young heart would
break.
"Oh, you poor, dear, silly children!" my wife cried, as Mrs. Brede
sobbed on her shoulder, "why _didn't_ you tell us?"
"W-W-W-We didn't want to be t-t-taken for a b-b-b-b-bridal couple,"
sobbed Mrs. Brede; "and we d-d-didn't _dream_ what awful lies we'd
have to tell, and all the aw-awful mixed-up-ness of it. Oh, dear,
dear, dear!"
* * * * *
"Pete!" commanded Mr. Jacobus, "put back them trunks. These folks
stays here's long's they wants ter. Mr. Brede"--he held out a large,
hard hand--"I'd orter've known better," he said. And my last doubt of
Mr. Brede vanished as he shook that grimy hand in manly fashion.
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