THE END OF THE WAITING
Blue on the branch and blue in the sky,
And naught between but the breezes high;
And naught so blue by the breezes stirred
As the deep, deep blue of the indigo bird.
Joy in the branch and joy in the sky,
And naught between but the breezes high,
And naught so glad on the breezes heard
As the gay, gay note of the indigo bird.
--ETHELWYN WETHERALD.
Miss Arabella's wedding day was a perfect rose of June as it dawned
over the hills and dales of Oro and waked the robins in Treasure Valley
to ecstatic song. The date was two weeks later than that set for the
elopement, for the bridegroom needed some time to recover from his
injudicious attempt to cross the swamp and surprise his little bride by
arriving a day earlier.
Then the doctor was in almost as bad a plight, with a wrenched arm and
a great gash in his forehead; and in any case, the wedding must needs
wait until he could make a respectable appearance as best man. Mrs.
Winters, too, declared she must have a few days to recover her breath
and get used to the idea of Arabella getting married, not to speak of
all the preparations for the grand wedding she had decreed they must
have.
And besides, the village needed two weeks, at least, to settle down
after the memorable night when they had almost lost their doctor. When
the boys arrived with the terrible news that he had been decoyed into
the Drowned Lands, every man in the community, and most of the women,
too, headed by Susan Winters, set off to his rescue. They found their
fears happily disappointed, however, and they carried him home in
triumph, and with him the man he had saved at the risk of his own life.
And the wonderful discovery that the stranger was Dr. Allen's oldest
and dearest friend, and that he was coming, all unknown, to marry
Arabella Winters--well! well! it was a caution if the foundations of
the village didn't give way altogether, and everything and everybody go
toppling over into Treasure Valley!
As if this were not excitement enough for a lifetime, right on top of
all that night's adventures came another shock. When the population of
Elmbrook returned, after the rescue of the doctor, Sawed-Off Wilmott
rushed through the village, wild-eyed, with the astounding news that
Ella Anne Long had disappeared with the ne'er-do-weel from Glenoro!
Granny Long lifted her voice above the general family bewailment to
declare that it was all Si's fault, for taking the spyglass with him
when he went to hunt the doctor; for if she had had it, Ella Anne would
never have got away without her knowledge--no, not even though it was
black midnight!
So there was a runaway match from Elmbrook on the first of June, after
all, even though little Miss Arabella was to be married in the proper
fashion. She was thankful for all the excitement and the talk and the
running to and fro, for they made it possible to keep her own proposed
elopement a profound secret. That Arabella should be preparing, all
unsuspected, for her wedding day was a surprise, of course, to every
one, especially Susan; but deep secrecy in such affairs was the general
rule, and caused no especial comment.
These two weeks before her marriage were magic days for the little
lilac lady. She found herself in a new atmosphere. From being of no
consequence at all to anybody, she had suddenly become the most
important member of the family, and she almost lost a sense of her own
identity when Susan consulted her as to the number of eggs to be put
into the wedding cake.
Susan, indeed, was deeply impressed. For was not Arabella going to
marry a rich man, and the doctor's bosom friend, at that? To be sure,
she could not help wishing he wouldn't spend so much of his time with
that queer old John McIntyre, but there was no denying his wealth, and
the way he did spend money was a caution. On the whole, he was quite a
wonderful match for Arabella, much better than he had been ten years
ago, and almost all Mrs. Winters could have wished for Bella herself.
So the wedding must be in keeping with his position, and the
preparations for it were put forward on a grand scale.
And through all the bustle and activity Miss Arabella moved in a happy
daze, conscious of one thing only, that Martin had come back, and,
under the love and appreciation, growing more beautiful every day. The
rose tints crept into her cheeks, and her eyes shone like the blue of
the June skies. Elsie Cameron took advantage of Susan's relaxation,
and puffed out the little bride-elect's pretty hair, and decked her
with ribbons and lace, until Martin declared she wasn't a day older
than when he went away, and twice as pretty.
Quite irrespective of his wealth, Martin, himself, took the village by
storm. The orphans adopted him as their very own, and moved over in a
body to the doctor's house whenever he was staying there. The men in
the mill stopped work the moment he appeared, and all the women in the
place, from Susan Winters down, fell in love with him. Every eye
watched him admiringly as he moved about, here and there, during those
two weeks. Folks said you could hardly tell whether he thought most of
Arabella or the doctor or old John McIntyre. Certainly he spent much
of his time with the dark watchman, and it was beautiful to see the
light his presence brought to John McIntyre's deep eyes. But he did
not by any means neglect Arabella. Two or three times a day he would
come rollicking up from the doctor's house, loudly chanting the praises
of the "brave Canajen byes" who had met a watery grave; would swing
open Miss Arabella's little gate with a force that nearly wrenched it
from its hinges, and after teasing Polly into saying all the naughty
things her mistress had hoped she had forgotten, he would bid little
Annie Laurie put on the faded lilac gown he admired so much, and they
would go off for a stroll through the village, the admiration of every
one in the place. They always walked down along the green-and-gold
floor of Treasure Valley, because Martin said it reminded him of home;
and always, before they returned, they went up the willow path to the
mill, or down to the shanty at the Drowned Lands, for a visit to John
McIntyre.
But while Miss Arabella walked about idly in her radiant dream, Susan
was slaving day and night. For the wedding she and her eldest daughter
were planning was to be no small affair. Bella wanted her aunt to be
married in the church. She knew just how a church wedding should be
conducted, and Wes Long had promised to write a piece about it and have
it printed in the Lakeview papers. One sentence was already composed,
"The happy party then repaired to the house of the bride's brother,
where a sumptuous _recherche dejeuner_ was served." Bella was almost
alarmed at the high-sounding words, but Wes said they were used in all
accounts of high-class weddings. There were two obstacles, however, in
the way of a church wedding. One was the bridegroom, and the other the
bride's brother. Martin announced that if Bella came any such tall
doings as that over her old uncle, he'd kick over the traces, and he
and Arabella would elope. Here he winked solemnly, and inquired if she
didn't suppose Arabella was just the sort that would run away; and the
little lilac lady hung her head and blushed, and Bella wondered why
Elsie Cameron should laugh so. Then there was the blacksmith himself.
Like most yielding husbands, he was subject to unaccountable fits of
stubbornness, and seized this inopportune occasion to indulge in one.
He positively refused, he announced dourly, even in the face of Susan's
demands, to make an Uncle Tom's Cabin parade of himself and Arabella by
going trolloping up the church aisle with her. He regarded the whole
scheme as one of the many indications of feminine folly, and confided
mournfully to the bridegroom that he might as well give up, for Susan's
latest dodge was to make them have their dinner out in the yard, like
the pigs. Why folks that had a decent roof over their heads should
turn themselves out of house and home to eat like the tinkers, was past
his knowledge. But you could never tell what weemen would be up to
next. Why, when he was at Neeag'ra Falls----
But while he poured out his complaints his wife went on with her
preparations, all unheeding. Though the church parade had to be given
up for a house wedding, she saw to it that its grandeur was no whit
diminished. The ceremony was to be performed in Arabella's own little
parlor, while the grand wedding dinner was to be served--not till two
o'clock, the blacksmith learned with dismay--at her brother's house,
under the orchard trees.
Only one thing more troubled the mistress of ceremonies. As the doctor
was to be best man, and Elsie Cameron bridesmaid, and since the groom
was rich, the Winters would have preferred to ask only the more genteel
folks of the neighborhood--the minister's family, and a few of their
Glenoro relatives. But Martin spoiled it all by asking John McIntyre
and Davy Munn and the eldest orphan. Susan tried to object, but Martin
declared that Tim and Davy had helped to bring about the wedding; for
if they had not been obliging enough to steal Arabella's dress, and
lose it in the swamp, he argued, he would be there yet; so the boys
deserved all the fun that was going. When the twins heard that an
exception had been made in favor of Tim, they raised their voices in
shrieking protest, and would have gone to the wedding willy-nilly, had
not Mrs. Winters interviewed them, promising them unlimited
bride's-cake when the affair was over, if they remained out of sight,
and dire retribution should they disobey.
So the matter was finally settled by asking every one, irrespective of
social position, and when the evening of Miss Arabella's wedding day
came around once again everything was in readiness. Elsie Cameron came
over in her white bridesmaid's gown, to see how Arabella liked her, and
the doctor dropped in to show Martin how to stand up and behave
himself, for once in his life. So when the time came to go home--for
Mrs. Winters sent them away early, declaring she couldn't get a hand's
turn done in such a crowd--what was more natural than that the
groomsman should walk with the bridesmaid? He did not ask if he might;
there was no need, for they were very good friends now. When he had
returned that night from the rescue of Martin, all mud-splashed and
exhausted, he had read, with a glad leap of his heart, the message in
her eyes and in her faltering words--he had vindicated himself.
By tacit consent they left the street and followed the path down into
Treasure Valley. And as they went, Gilbert told her more fully the
story of his relations with Martin; how his friend's heroic silence and
his own selfish ambition had made him forget his duty. He did not
spare himself; but he could afford to be severe, for Martin had told
her everything, and she was full of contrition for her late blame.
They strolled through the rose-tinted mists of the valley, the perfume
rising from the scented grasses and flowers at their feet. She looked
like a tall June flower herself, Gilbert thought, as she walked ahead
of him in the narrow pathway, slender and erect in her clinging white
gown, with her delicately poised head like a golden blossom on its
stem. As they left the violet-carpeted bank and crossed the white
stepping-stones, an oriole, swinging far up on the topmost branch of
the elm-tree, just where his golden wing caught the slant rays of the
setting sun, suddenly burst into joyous, bubbling song. The ringing
notes followed them even after they had climbed the hill and were
passing up the shadowy avenue of the orchard. And though they were
neither aware of it as yet, he was singing the opening strains of that
harmony that was some day to fill their united lives.
"_Oh, there's many a man o' the Ca----_"
Uncle Hughie came hobbling down the orchard path. His voice had an
unusually joyous ring, therefore he reached a tremendous altitude, and
the song ended abruptly in a husky shriek.
"Huh! huh! hoots! toots!" he was muttering to himself disgustedly, as
he came upon the pair. "Och! hoch! yes! yes! indeed and indeed!" he
remarked, with a significant smile that brought the color to Elsie's
cheeks. "And is the arm better, doctor?" he asked, stopping, and
patting the young man's injured member tenderly.
"Oh, yes; it's nothing. I'm in fine shape for the wedding to-morrow."
"Eh! eh! yes! yes!" The old man's face was alight with joy. "Eh! it
takes the Almighty to be managing things, indeed. But, mind ye this!
I would be finding out something about how He will be managing." His
voice sank to a mysterious whisper. "I would be rastlin' it out last
night, an' thinkin' how He'd been workin' an' turnin' an' twistin'
things for the good o' the poor McIntyre body, an' the poor bits o'
things Jake Sawyer adopted. I would be rastlin' it all out, an' mind
ye--listen to this--He wouldn't be doin' it by Himself." His eyes
shone like living amber. "Oh, no, indeed. He would be handing over
the job to folks--jist folks, mind ye! Eh! eh! wouldn't that be
wonderful? An' it will jist be because we are such poor potterin'
bodies, that we wouldn't be having the world patched up an' fixed right
long ago. Och! it would be a great thing, indeed, that we would be
having a hand in making the earth! And some day we will all be
learning to do our part, jist as He wants it, and then that will be a
fine day for the world, oh, a fine day, I tell you!" He started to
move away.
"Where are you going, Uncle Hughie?" asked his niece. "The dew is
falling, remember."
"Och! hoch! it is the troublesome lass you will be!" he cried, looking
at her fondly. "I will jist be away a meenit. The minister and me
would jist be goin' up to the mill for a word with John McIntyre. He's
come home again--eh! eh! yes, he's jist come home. The dew! Hoch!"
"_Oh, there's many a man o' the Ca----_"
He hobbled joyfully away, and the two moved on up the green orchard
aisle.
Early the next morning there was a tremendous rushing to and fro
between the bride's house and her brother's. Everything in the village
took on a holiday aspect. The orphans were up at dawn, and, decked in
their best, flew hither and thither, keeping things stirred up and
lively. The school children had a holiday, because the Duke had to go
to the wedding early, to help Mrs. Winters set the tables. The mill
did not exactly stop running, but nobody settled down to work, for Wes
Long, who left at ten o'clock to run home and put on his Sunday
clothes, came tearing back in his white shirt-sleeves and with his hair
all soapy and wet, with the news that Sandy McQuarry was already at
Winters', dressed in his Sabbath blacks, and fetching and carrying for
the Duke like a trained poodle. Whereupon every man in the mill threw
up his job and went down and walked the logs in the pond, and danced,
and shoved each other into the water, and behaved in a way that, as
Granny Long reported afterward to Sandy, was nothing but defying the
Almighty.
When the time set for the ceremony approached, Miss Arabella, arrayed
in her blue wedding dress and a long white veil, stood in the little
spare bedroom, surveying her trembling image in the mirror, between Red
Riding-Hood and Little Bo-peep. She dared not sit down, for Susan said
she would crush her flounces, and she stood clinging to the bedpost for
support, looking like a little, frightened gray sparrow that had
somehow got into a bluebird's feathers. Her bridesmaid stood by her,
cheerful and encouraging; Bella was giving pulls and jerks to her
aunt's gown and veil, and Susan was hurrying in and out, breathless and
anxious. The guests had already begun to crush their way into the
parlor, and their subdued voices came through the door.
"There's all Aunt Christena's folks jist drove up, maw," whispered
Bella, rustling to the window in her stiff pink silk. "Cousin Martha's
got the book with the wedding march under her arm. Goodness! there's
the minister! Arabella, are you sure you're ready? An' there's Martin
and Dr. Allen comin' down the street!" The bridesmaid came and peeped
over her shoulder. "An' there's Marjorie Scott, Elsie! She's got her
new blue dress on, and she said she was going to wear her old white! I
bet that's because your Malcolm's home!"
The handle of the door rattled loudly. "Arabella!" hissed a deep voice
through the keyhole.
"Yes, William?" whispered his sister faintly.
"Here's the preacher. You'd best come on out."
"Hish, William!" commanded his wife, on the other side of the keyhole.
"She'll come out when I say so. He's a caution," she continued,
straightening up, and looking at the drooping bride as though her
brother's untoward conduct were all her fault. Miss Arabella drooped
farther. She slipped her arm inside her bridesmaid's.
"Elsie, if anybody else comes, don't--_don't_ let them tell me," she
whispered piteously. "It makes me feel awful!"
The bridesmaid took her hand and patted it soothingly. "I won't," she
promised cheerily. "Don't listen to a word any one says. I'll tell
you when it's time to go out, and there's nothing to be afraid of.
Why, you look just lovely! And think how proud Martin will be! You
mustn't get nervous, for his sake, you know."
"Arabella!" The keyhole once more gave forth a hissing whisper.
"We've all been waiting half an hour."
Mrs. Winters tightened her teeth. "He'll spoil everything!" she
declared. "It's awful old-fashioned for the bride to be on time, but
you can't knock that into William's head. You might as well go,
Arabella; and for pity's sakes, stand up straight, an' don't look so
scared!"
She pushed the trembling little blue figure toward the door. "Elsie,
you go first, and walk slow; no--wait! Bella, open the door and nod to
Cousin Martha to start playin'."
Bella's head shot out and in, the door slammed again, and there arose
from the other side of it faint, squeaky sounds from the organ.
"Goodness me! you can hardly hear her!" cried Mrs. Winters. "I told
Christena Martha'd spoil it! My sakes! I wish Ella Anne Long hadn't
run away so soon! Now open the door, Bella, awful slow. Now, Elsie,
go on. Arabella, hang on to your flowers! It's a perfect shame your
brother ain't with you! For goodness' sake, stand up straight, an'
don't look as if you was goin' to be hung! Go on, Elsie!"
But the bride was clinging desperately to her maid's arm, and refused
to let her go. "I--I can't go, Susan!" she whispered.
"Oh, mercy me! Everything's goin' to be spoiled!" wailed her
sister-in-law.
"Arabella's going to walk out holding my arm," said Elsie firmly,
seeing that the little bride's condition demanded immediate relief.
"Well, go on, then," said Mrs. Winters, with a gesture of despair.
"It'll be a fool of a thing, anyhow. Now, Bella, open the door,
slow--slow!"
The door swung gradually, but when it was half open Mrs. Winters
slammed it again.
"Arabella," she cried, in a panic, "did you shut Polly up?"
The bride stared at her, uncomprehending.
"No, she never, maw," whispered Bella hysterically, "an' she'll be sure
to come right out with them swear-words in the middle of everything."
Once more the bridesmaid met the emergency. "It can't be helped now,"
she said. "Please don't bother her. Open the door, Bella."
The door swung back for the third and last time, and the little blue
figure and the tall white one walked slowly up to where Martin and the
doctor stood before the minister. The distance from the spare bedroom
door to their destination was a matter of about three yards, and Mrs.
Winters had overlooked the fact that it was out of all proportion to
the wedding march. Cousin Martha from Glenoro, in a panic of
nervousness, was laboring hard to get to the end of it, but long after
the bridal party was in position the faint, jerky sounds still wavered
on, now vanishing altogether in a dumb show, now, just as the people
were hopefully thinking the ordeal over, becoming huskily audible.
There seemed enough of the thing, Mrs. Long said afterward, to give
Arabella time to walk over to the next concession to get married.
The minister put on his glasses, took them off, fumbled with his
handkerchief in his coat-tail pocket, and cleared his throat. The
groom shifted from one foot to the other. Over in a corner, behind the
sofa, Davy Munn and the eldest orphan ducked their heads and giggled.
Bella rattled her pink silk nervously; Mrs. Winters frowned at her
husband.
Cousin Martha from Glenoro turned another page, the wedding march took
a new start, and grew stronger; and the blacksmith's small remnant of
patience vanished. He leaned over the heads of half a dozen guests,
and said in a loud whisper, "For the Lord's sake, Marthy, hold up a
minit an' let 'em get hitched!" The wedding march ceased abruptly; the
guests drew a sigh of relief, and the ceremony began.
A deep hush fell over the crowded little room. To several there,
besides the bride and groom, this ceremony was especially impressive.
The groomsman felt a lump in his throat as he looked at Martin, and
thought of all the years his little bride and the blue silk gown had
waited, and how he had helped to lengthen the time. And over in a
corner, sitting beside Tim, John McIntyre gazed at his old comrade's
radiant face, and raised his heart in reverent thankfulness that they
had been spared to see this day together.
The ceremony ended in a hushed solemnity, and when the minister
pronounced them man and wife, and all bowed in prayer, even Tim,
touched by the signs of emotion in John McIntyre's face, was quiet and
well behaved. But, unfortunately, the house was too near the Sawyers'
household to long enjoy peace and prosperity. Jake and Hannah, of
course, were among the guests, and, the evening before, Mrs. Winters
had secured a promise from Uncle Hughie Cameron to take the youngest
orphan under his care during the wedding, and had wrung from the twins
a solemn promise that they would neither be seen nor heard until after
the dinner had been served. Faithful to their contract, the two had
lain concealed beneath the lilacs, watching Arabella's home, and
talking in breathless whispers while the guests were arriving. But
when every one had disappeared indoors, and silence settled upon the
village, time hung heavily upon the orphans' hands. They crawled out
from their ambush, and simultaneously their fertile brains were
possessed of a scheme for enlivening the dull hours. They would have a
wedding themselves! They had witnessed a ceremony at the Orphans'
Home, when one of the maids was married, and knew exactly how it should
be conducted. There were Isaac and Rebekah strutting about the back
yard; they would serve as the bridal couple, and the twelve tribes
would be guests. No sooner said than done; the twins set vigorously to
work. The first and most important consideration, of course, was the
bride's toilette, and there was that remnant of blue silk Miss Arabella
had given them from her gown. The twins ran upstairs for it with
screams of delight. It would fit beautifully around Rebekah's
shoulders, and the smart tan shoes Nature had bestowed upon her would
look perfectly elegant with a blue silk dress. They tore down the
little lace curtain from the kitchen window for a bridal veil; and the
next thing to be done was to catch Rebekah and dress her.
Now, the Sawyer cat, and the dog, yes, and even the pig, had at various
times been arrayed in human apparel, but never yet had Rebekah been
forced into the habiliments of civilization. She showed, from the
first, a decided distaste for them. The twins struggled and panted,
while the unwilling bride dodged and squawked and disarranged her
toilet again and again, and the alarmed bridegroom flew hither and
thither, with widespread pinions, uttering loud protests.
But in spite of her struggles, Rebekah was at last made ready, and then
arose the question of Isaac's dress. The black-haired twin, being the
more venturesome of the two, suggested dressing him up in Joey's Sunday
suit; but he was even harder to manage than the bride, and as he was
just now showing an inclination to be violent, the breathless modistes
decided, after the fashion of the day, not to bother about the
bridegroom's clothes. So the fair-haired twin held Rebekah in a tight
grip while her sister hitched Joshua to Joey's little cart, and placed
him ready at the steps, to be used after the ceremony. Next, the
black-haired twin took her turn at holding the protesting bride, while
the other proceeded to dress up the veranda as a church; for this was
to be no common home wedding like Arabella's. The parlor chairs were
the pews, the sewing-machine was the organ, and Hannah's best
red-and-white bedspread made a beautiful carpet for the aisle. The
only thing needed now was a pulpit, and soon Lenora appeared in triumph
from the kitchen, dragging an old wash-stand. It had a round opening
in the top, in which the wash-basin fitted, and when she climbed up and
let herself down into this aperture she looked as like Mr. Scott in his
pulpit, her admiring sister declared, as two peas.
When everything was in readiness, and the fair-haired twin was setting
out to capture the bridegroom, there arose an unfortunate dispute.
"I bar be the minister," said the black-haired twin.
"No, you don't! It's goin' to be me! I thought of the pulpit!"
"I don't care! I barred it first. You can play the organ."
"I won't! An' I can't, anyhow; somebody's got to hold Rebekah."
"Well, I'm goin' to be Mr. Scoot, so there!"
"Ain't!"
"Are so!"
The two would-be divines made a simultaneous dash for the place of
honor, and scrambling upon it, crushed their way, side by side, into
the hole, which was scarcely large enough for one. In the struggle
Rebekah gained her liberty, and with a loud squawk she leaped down the
steps, her blue gown and her bridal veil streaming behind. She flopped
right on top of Joshua, who had lain down in his harness, and rudely
broke his slumber. Now, Joshua was a wise dog, who knew his own
household, and would no more have thought of barking at Rebekah than at
Hannah. But when this madly struggling bundle of clothes dashed over
his nose he saw in it no smallest resemblance to anything he had ever
permitted to pass his gateway. So, hampered though he was by Joey's
cart, he made a dash at his disguised friend, and, barking madly,
chased her out through the gate. The two rival clergymen, nearly
squeezed to death within the narrow confines of the pulpit, screamed,
and struggled for liberty, and called on Joshua to come back, but to no
purpose. Down the street he clattered, snapping at Rebekah's flying
veil. The runaway bride dodged this way and that, and finally darted
in at Miss Arabella's gate, Joshua following fiercely. Miss Arabella's
door also stood open. Rebekah dashed up the walk and into the house.
All had been very still in the crowded little parlor. The ceremony was
over, and the bowed heads had just been raised from prayer, when into
the reverent hush there penetrated from the kitchen a loud, complaining
voice: "Oh, Lordy! ain't we havin' a slow time!" An electric current
quivered through the room, the two boys in the corner writhed in a
spasm of giggles, and the minister said sternly, "Hush!" But the next
instant the necessity for constraint was over. A tremendous uproar
burst from the front doorway, and into the midst of the wedding guests
there dashed an astounding pair--a small, turbulent creature, dressed
exactly like the bride, in blue silk and a streaming white veil,
followed fiercely by a dog, dragging the remnants of a shattered cart.
Around the room they leaped in a mad circle, upsetting everything in
their way. Then the blue-robed creature, with a scream, rose above the
heads of the astonished guests, and landed in the kitchen, with a
deafening crash of breaking dishes. The rest of the disturbance
followed, barking madly; Tim and Davy arose, and went bounding after
them with whoops of joy, and above the din arose Polly's loud squall,
in a most unseasonable complaint about the dullness of the times.
Everybody declared afterward that no woman in the county of Simcoe
could have brought order out of that chaos except Susan Winters. She
drove out the noisy intruders with the broomstick, silenced the two
uproarious wedding guests with the same instrument, and brought the
hilarious company to something like decorum by ordering them to form in
procession for the wedding dinner. A slight delay occurred when it was
found that Jake and Hannah Sawyer were missing. Attracted by agonized
shrieks from the direction of their home, they left precipitately, and
several of the wedding guests, unacquainted with the orphans' ways,
followed them in consternation. They soon returned, however. Jake had
liberated the twins by sawing the washstand asunder, and the parents
brought the two unfortunates with them. Even Mrs. Winters made them
welcome when she saw their tearful faces, and they joined the
procession, profoundly thankful for the untoward circumstance that had
produced such joyful results.
But the little episode had another happy outcome that made the
bridegroom's eyes shine with something deeper than even his own joy.
Just as the fantastic figure of Rebekah had disappeared into the
kitchen, the groomsman touched Martin's arm gently, and whispered,
"Look at McIntyre!" The bridegroom turned; his grave, silent friend
had been watching the grotesque little creature with a smile slowly
breaking over his face, and when Tim arose, with a yell, and bounded
after her, John McIntyre threw back his head and laughed. Yes, the
repellant, dark-faced watchman laughed, a deep, hearty, joyous laugh,
and the sound of it brought a smarting mist to the kindly, watching
eyes of his friend.
The procession was soon formed, and it slowly moved out through the
front door, across the tiny garden, and down the shady avenue of the
orchard. Very proudly the big bridegroom walked with his little bride
on his arm. She was no longer drooping and pathetic-looking now, but
erect and radiant. Behind came their two attendants, Gilbert's
wondering eyes watching the changing bronze and gold of the
bridesmaid's hair, as the sunlight and the green shadows alternately
played over it. The minister and the triumphant mistress of ceremonies
came next, followed by the blacksmith, leading the minister's wife, and
growing more cheerful each moment as he neared his dinner. The rest
had arranged themselves as best suited their inclinations, and not far
down the line moved a happy quartette--Marjorie and Malcolm, oblivious
to everything but each other, and behind them Sandy McQuarry and the
stately Duke; and a glance at the faces of the four would have puzzled
an observer to guess which pair was at that moment experiencing more of
the joy of youth and love.
Down the grassy aisle the happy procession passed, through the flecking
light and shade, where the long, white tables were laid beneath the
apple boughs. And as they moved, a bluebird, swinging far above them
in the sunlight, caroled forth a joyous marriage hymn. And down below,
the little blue silk gown, of the same shade as his dazzling plumage,
covered a heart just as happy.