After walking many weary miles in the city of New York, a place to rest our weary bones seemed expedient. The façade of St. Thomas' cathedral entered into our wandering line of vision. We plodded up the grey steps, struggled with the heavy door and entered.

Our bobby socks were soiled and sagging and we had no hats so from the recess of our roomy purses, we took out our trusty bandannas and donned them. We ventured down the aisle and took a seat. The quiet beauty of the ornate stone walls and alter stole over us.

While in a sort of purple fog we were amazed to watch immaculately dressed men and women being ushered in. In a daze, we watched the chancel fill up. Music stole into our consciousness and then the wedding march sounded and there came the bride.

Fearing we would offend someone, we decided to leave before it was over. The usher rushed to pen the door, explaining we would have to use the side one, and we prepared to march into the bright world again. Much to our chagrin, as we walked down the steps, camera men, newspaper men, crowds with rice and flowers and cab men jumped to attention.

Our bobby socks sagged lower and we vainly wished the bandanas would cover our faces as we scurried away. Thus we crashed a wedding on Fifth Avenue.

Joy VanderTill