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Alabama - Mrs. Blanchard, Professional Mother

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say it Cissie, but I distrust Mr. Fenton. Suppose you postpone the wed-
ding, and I'll give you a nice little trip to New York, or Milwaukee, or
maybe take you to visit your Aunt Millie in Dallas.'

"It was Sunday morning and my father and I, after a late breakfast,
were loitering at the table in our big, old fashioned dining-room, where
a fire crackled and glowed on the hearth, and a canary-bird chirped
so loud and incessantly that we could hardly hear outselves speak.

"Though it happened so long ago, I remember perfectly the ~~expectant~~
hopeful look on his face as he waited for my reply.

"I told him I loved Mr. Fenton, because he was a man who did things.
And that I would marry him at the time we had agreed upon, and go with
him to the ends of the earth.

"For an instant my father seemed on the verge of weeping; but after
a moment or two, he made some casual comment and then left the room.

"I stayed on, I remember, to finish a second waffle. And about eleven
o'clock, Mr. Fenton and I went to a service at the old Court Street
Methodist Church, where we heard a sermon on the rapidly increasing evil
of divorce, which would eventually, if it remained unchecked, shatter the
stability of the American home.

"When the sermon ended, we sang 'How Firm a Foundation', and as the
strains of the inspiring old hymn died away, I felt certain of only one
thing in all the universe, and that was the permanency of my happiness
with Thomas Fenton. Other homes might be broken ... other couples es-
tranged by the rising tide of too easy divorce. But Mr. Fenton was so
different from the average man, that I had no fears on his account. I
knew our union would be indissoluble.

"We were married the following Thursday at four o'clock in the after-
noon. My dress was Alice-blue silk, and I carried a bouquet of pink
rosebuds and lilies-of-the-valley.

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