The wedding messenger had come,--oh, yes!--but she had not addressed her as flatteringly, as respectfully as she had been heard to address the wife of Yohem, the money-lender.

And Henne Roesel wasn't going to any weddings where she was not wanted.

My grandmother had a struggle of it, but she succeeded in soothing the sensitive cousin, who consented at length to don her best dress and go to the wedding.
While my grandmother labored with Henne Roesel, the bride sat in state in her father's house under the hill, the maidens danced, and the matrons fanned themselves, while the fiddlers and _zimblers_ scraped and tinkled.

But as the hours went by, the matrons became restless and the dancers wearied.

The poor relations grew impatient for the feast, and the babies in their laps began to fidget and cry; while the bride grew faint, and the bridegroom's party began to send frequent messengers from the house next door, demanding to know the cause of the delay.