On the wedding morning (which fell early in July) she had, by agreement with her groom, prepared a delightful surprise for us.

We trooped after prayers into the dining-hall to find, in place of the hateful porridge, a feast laid out--ham and eggs, cold veal pies, gooseberry preserves, and--best of all--plate upon plate of strawberries with bowl upon bowl of cool clotted cream.

Not a child of us had ever tasted strawberries or cream in his life, so you may guess if we ate with prudence.
At half-past ten Miss Plinlimmon (who had not found the heart to restrain our appetites) marshalled and led us forth, gorged and torpid, to the church where at eleven o'clock the ceremony was to take place.

Her eyes were red-rimmed as she cast them up towards the window behind which Mr.Scougall, no doubt, was at that moment arraying himself: but she commanded a firm step, and even a firm voice to remark outside the wicket, as she looked up at the chimney-pots, that Nature had put on her fairest garb.
The day, to be sure, was monstrously hot and stuffy.

Not a breath of wind ruffled the waters of the dock, around the head of which we trudged to a recently erected church on the opposite shore.
I remember observing, on our way, the dazzling brilliance of its weathercock.
We found its interior spacious but warm, and the air heavy with the scent--it comes back to me as I write--of a peculiar sweet oil used in the lamps.