"But happy they! the happiest of their kind!
Whom gentler stars unite, and in one fate
Their hearts, their fortunes, and their beings blend."
Wallace Ormsby sought and obtained a second interview with Mr. Keith
that evening, in which he asked his senior partner to take him into
still closer relations, and bestow upon him a priceless gift.
Mr. Keith was both surprised and moved. "I can't realize that she's
really grown up," he said, "and--I--don't know how to spare her even to
you, Wallace."
"But you know, my dear sir, it isn't as if I wanted to carry her away."
"No, that's quite true. But her mother's right in her is fully equal to
mine. Wait a moment till I call her in."
So the request and the arguments in its favor had to be repeated.
The mother's eyes filled, and for a moment she was silent. Then,
holding out her hand to the young man, "I have long had a motherly
affection for you, Wallace," she said, "and there is no one else to
whom I could so willingly entrust the happiness of my dear child, and
yet it is very hard to give her up."
"Don't think of it in that way, dear Mrs. Keith," he made answer in
tones of the deepest respect, taking the hand and lifting it gallantly
to his lips. "Think of it rather as taking another member, another son,
into the family. It would be joy to me to have the right to call you
mother."
"And I should be proud to own you as my son," she returned with her own
sweet, motherly smile. "But Zillah herself must decide this question."
"Then I have nothing to fear, nothing more to ask," he said joyously.
In truth, no one had any objection to bring against the match, and all
went smoothly and happily with the newly affianced pair.
The next day Wallace came hurrying in with beaming countenance and
eager air. "Ah! it was you I wanted," he said, finding his betrothed
alone in the parlor, whither she had betaken herself for her daily hour
of practice on the piano. "Won't you put on a shawl and bonnet and come
with me?"
"Where?" she asked with a merry twinkle in her eye.
"Just across the street to look at that house of Miller's. It's nearly
finished, and he's willing to sell."
"But who wants to buy?" she asked in her pretty, saucy way, as she
stepped into the hall and tied on a bonnet which she took from the
hat-rack there, while Wallace threw a shawl about her shoulders.
"Perhaps we can better answer that question after we've been over it,"
he said with a smile.
So it proved; the snug, pretty, conveniently arranged cottage--so close
to the old home too--seemed just the thing for them. "Father, mother,"
and all the family were presently brought over to look at and pronounce
an opinion upon it, and without a dissenting voice the purchase was
decided upon.
"And now there's another and still more important matter to be
settled," whispered Wallace in Zillah's ear.
"There is no hurry," she answered, blushing.
"There is to be a double or a triple wedding in our church in about a
month from now," he went on lightly and in coaxing tones. "I want it
to be the latter; so do four other people; but it all depends on you.
Come, darling, why should we wait longer than that?"
"Ah! it fairly frightens me to think of such haste," she said, half
averting her blushing face.
"I don't know why it should," he responded, his tone speaking both
disappointment and chagrin, "unless you fear to trust your happiness to
my keeping."
"That's because men are so different from women; but to save a
quarrel--we'll leave it to father's and mother's decision; shan't we?"
And she turned to him again with a smile so arch and sweet that he
consented at once, and sealed the promise with a kiss.
Father and mother said, "Wait at least until next spring; you are both
young enough, and we cannot part so suddenly with our dear child."
"Hardly a parting--just to let her cross the street," Wallace made
answer with a sigh that was not altogether of resignation; then added a
hint that he would be willing to leave her in her father's house until
spring if only they would let him join her there.
But that proposal was smilingly rejected, and the wedding day
indefinitely postponed until "some time in the spring."
Intimate friends were not kept in ignorance of the engagement, and the
two expectant brides and bridegrooms were, until convinced of its
uselessness, very urgent for the triple wedding.
The double one took place at the appointed time and place, was quite a
brilliant affair, and followed by a round of festivities such as the
quiet little town had never witnessed before. Evening entertainments
were given by the Chetwoods, the Granges, the Keiths, and one or two
others. Then life settled back into the ordinary grooves, and the rest
of the fall and winter passed without any unusual excitement.
The Keiths were quietly, cheerfully busy, as at other times. Wallace
came and went as before, but was oftener left to Zillah's sole
entertainment, yet treated more entirely than ever as one of the family.
Brighter days were dawning for our friends. Through all these years
they had been very diligent in business and very faithful in paying
tithes of all they possessed, and the truth of Scripture declarations
and promises--"the hand of the diligent maketh rich," and "so shall
thy barns be filled with plenty and thy presses burst out with new
wine"--was being verified in their experience. This fall Messrs. Keith
& Ormsby found themselves successful in several very important cases,
which brought them both fame and money; the town was now growing
rapidly, business looking up, and land, which they had bought for a
trifle on first coming to the place, had already doubled and trebled in
value.
Rupert, too, was succeeding well in his chosen vocation, and both he
and his father urged Mildred to cease her toil as a music teacher,
saying there was now not the slightest necessity for such exertion on
her part.
The mother's views coincided with theirs, but Mildred begged to be
permitted to go on in the old way, saying constant employment was good
for her; she was used to it and liked it.
"And besides," she added playfully, "I enjoy the thought that I am
laying a little something by against old age or a rainy day. I am not
likely ever to marry, so will do well to be self-helpful; and why
should I not have a business the same as if I were a man? I shall be
all the happier, the more useful, and the more independent."
So they let her have her way. She was not keeping employment from those
who needed it, for there were plenty of pupils for all the teachers
in the place. Effie Prescott was now one of these--most faithful and
successful, and full of joy and thankfulness that thus she was able to
win her bread; for she had not strength to do so in any more laborious
way, and her father was poor enough to feel it a relief to have Effie
supporting herself.
"And I have you to thank for it," she had said again and again to
Mildred; "it is one of your good works, and I shall never cease to be
grateful to you for it."
"Indeed, Effie, you owe me nothing," Mildred would reply; "not even
gratitude, for you have paid well for all I have done for you. You owe
it all, under God, to your own industry, energy, and perseverance in
the use and improvement of the talents he has given you."
To the whole household at Mr. Keith's the all-absorbing interest was
the fitting up and furnishing of the snug cottage across the street,
and the preparation of Zillah's trousseau, in the expense or labor of
which each one was determined to have a share.
All these matters were freely discussed in the family, even the little
boys and girls being deemed worthy to be trusted not to speak of them
to outsiders. Not that any one felt that there was any special cause
for concealment of their plans or doings, but they did not wish to have
them canvassed and commented upon by the busybodies and gossips of
the town, who, like those of other places, always knew so much more of
their neighbors' affairs than did those neighbors themselves.
No one rejoiced more sincerely than Mildred in the evident happiness of
the affianced pair; no one entered more heartily into their plans, was
oftener consulted in regard to them, or was more generous with money
and labor in carrying them out. Her sisterly pride in Zillah's beauty
was without a touch of envy or jealousy, though she was fully aware of
the fact that it far exceeded her own.
"What a lovely bride she will make!" Mildred often whispered to
herself. "Wallace may well feel consoled for my rejection of his suit."
She tried hard for perfect unselfishness, and to entirely fill her
mind and heart with the interests of the hour, especially as affecting
these two; but thoughts of the love that now seemed lost to her, of
the dreams of happiness which had been for years gradually fading till
there was scarcely a vestige of them left, would at times intrude
themselves, filling her with a sadness she could scarce conceal
from the watchful eyes of the tender mother who knew and so fully
sympathized in the sorrows and anxieties of this her first-born and
dearly beloved child.
She knew that even yet there was a constant longing, a half-unconscious
daily looking for of news of the wanderer as the mail came in, followed
each time by renewed disappointment, and that often the poor, weary
heart grew sick indeed with hope deferred.
As spring opened, the day for the wedding drew near, and the
preparations for it were almost completed. Mildred's sadness of heart
increased, until it cost her a constant and often heroic struggle to
maintain her cheerfulness before others; while at times she could not
refrain from shedding many tears in the privacy of her own room. One
evening her mother, entering softly, found her weeping.
"My dear, dear child!" she whispered, taking her in her arms and
caressing her tenderly, "my dear, brave, unselfish girl! you do not
know how your mother loves you!"
"Precious mother!" responded the weeping girl, hastily wiping away her
tears and returning the caress; "what could I ever do without your dear
love! I am ashamed of my depression; ashamed that I should yield to it
in this way. Ah, I little deserve to be called brave!"
"It has been a long, hard trial, dear daughter," Mrs. Keith said,
softly stroking Mildred's hair, "and you have borne it wonderfully
well; as you could not in your own strength, I well know."
"No, never! The joy of the Lord has been my strength, else my heart
would have broken long ago; for oh, this terrible suspense! so much
worse than any certainty could be!"
"I know it, darling," her mother responded in moved tones; "then would
it not be your wisest course to endeavor to convince yourself that
either utter indifference or death has ended this for you?"
"Mother, that is not in the power of my will. That Charlie could prove
untrue I cannot believe, and something tells me that he still lives."
"Then, dearest, cheer up. Why this increased sadness of late?"
"I hardly know myself, mother dear; I am sure my whole heart rejoices
in the happiness of my sister and Wallace; yet somehow the sight of it
seems to deepen my own sorrow by contrast. I fear it is because I am
selfish."
"I cannot think so," her mother said; "so do not harbor that thought,
thus adding to your distress. Try to cast your care on the Lord, fully
believing the inspired declaration that 'all things work together for
good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his
purpose.' He is never for a moment unmindful of one of his children; he
has a plan for each one, and suffers no real evil to befall them. 'Rest
in the Lord, and wait patiently for him.'"
"Ah, mother!" Mildred said, smiling through her tears, "I am more and
more convinced that all I need to make me perfectly happy is strong,
unwavering faith in the wisdom and love of my heavenly Father; then I
should rejoice to do and suffer all his holy will, never doubting that
what he sends is the very best for me."
There was an additional cause for Mildred's depression just at this
time--one felt in greater or less degree by all the Keiths--in the
thought that this was the beginning of the inevitable breaking up of
the dear family circle--the forming by one of their number of new
ties, which must in some measure supplant the old--the tender loves of
parents and children, brothers and sisters. Zillah was not going far
away, and they did not fear to trust her to Wallace; but their home
would no longer be hers, and another, in whose veins ran no drop of
their blood, would henceforth be nearer and dearer to her than they.
Except the parents, perhaps no other felt this quite so keenly
as Ada--the nearest in age and hitherto the room-mate and almost
inseparable companion of the sister who was leaving them.
It was the morning of the wedding day; the ceremony was to take place
in the evening, in the parlor of Mr. Keith's house, which the sisters
were busily decorating for the occasion with spring flowers from the
garden and the woods.
The supply was not sufficient, and the little boys were sent in search
of more; the mother and Celestia Ann--who still lived with them, going
home occasionally for a few weeks, but always returning and taking up
her duties there with renewed satisfaction--were deep in the mysteries
of cake-making and kindred arts; so when the door-bell rang Ada
answered it.
Standing before the open door was a very pleasant-faced young man,
whose dress and general appearance seemed to bespeak him a clergyman.
He lifted his hat with a low bow, his face lighting up with a smile of
recognition.
"Miss Mildred?" he said half inquiringly, as he held out his hand in
cordial greeting.
"No, sir," returned Ada, giving him her hand, but with a slightly
puzzled look; "I am Ada Keith."
"Ah! one of the little ones when I knew you--not old enough to remember
me, I fear. I am from Lansdale, your old Ohio home."
He handed her a card, on which she read at a glance, "Rev. Francis
Osborne."
"Ah, I know now who you are! I have a slight remembrance of a big boy
of that name who has had time enough to grow into a man," she said with
an arch smile that he thought very bewitching. "Come in, Mr. Osborne;
they will all be glad to see you."
He was warmly welcomed and hospitably entertained, as an old-time
friend, as one coming from the early home still held in tender
remembrance, and as a messenger from Aunt Wealthy, who sent by him
a handsome bridal gift--a beautiful gold brooch. Quite unexpected;
for the dear old lady had already given generously toward the
house-furnishing.
Zillah was greatly pleased. There was already upon a side-table in
the sitting-room quite an array of handsome presents from her near
relatives and friends--the Dinsmore cousins and others--and Aunt
Wealthy's gift was now assigned a conspicuous place among them.
Mrs. Keith's wedding dress of rich, white silk, her bridal veil and
orange blossoms, had been carefully preserved, and finding that the
dress exactly fitted her, Zillah had chosen to be married in it, in
decided preference to having a new one.
It was, of course, made in very old-fashioned style, but she insisted
that she liked it all the better for that, and no one who saw her in it
could deny that it was extremely becoming.
All the sisters were to be bridesmaids--in the order of their ages--and
all to wear white tarlatan. Rupert would be first groomsman; Robert
Grange, a brother of Lu, second; Cyril and Don, third and fourth.
A large number of guests were invited and a handsome entertainment was
provided. Their pastor, Mr. Lord, had received due notice of the coming
event, and promised to officiate.
Seeing him leaving the parsonage early in the afternoon, his mother
called to him, asking where he was going.
"For a walk and to make a pastoral call or two," he answered, pausing
and turning toward her with an air of affectionate respect.
"Well, Joel, don't forget to come home early enough to dress for the
wedding. I shall be ready in good season, and hope you will too."
"Oh, certainly, mother! I'm glad you reminded me, though, for I really
had forgotten it."
"And will again, I'm very much afraid," she murmured, between a smile
and a sigh, as she watched him down the street.
He walked on and on in meditative mood, till nearing a farm-house,
several miles from town, he was waked from his revery by the voice of
its owner bidding him good-day and asking if he would go with him to
the river for an afternoon's fishing. "I was just setting off for it,"
he said. "I've an extra pole and line here, and shall be glad of your
company."
"Thank you, Mr. Vail, I will: it's a pastime I'm somewhat partial to,"
the minister made answer.
"Will, Will!" the farmer called to his son, "bring me that other
fishing tackle, and tell your mother we'll be back--Mr. Lord and I--for
tea about sundown."
Seven was the hour set for the wedding ceremony. At half-past five Mrs.
Lord's tea-table was ready and waiting for the return of her son. But
six o'clock came, and there was no sign of his approach.
"I'll go and dress; perhaps he'll be here by that time," she said to
herself, turning from the window from which she had been gazing with
constantly increasing anxiety and impatience.
She made a hasty toilet, hoping every moment to hear his step and
voice. But he came not. She ate her supper, watched the clock until the
hands pointed to five minutes of seven; then, filled with vexation and
chagrin, donned bonnet and shawl and set off in haste for Mr. Keith's.
That gentleman met her at the gate. "Ah, my dear madam, I am glad to
see you!" he said, shaking hands with her. "Walk in. But where is
Mr. Lord? The guests are all assembled--now that you are here--and
everything is in readiness for the ceremony."
"Indeed, Mr. Keith, I'm terribly mortified!" the old lady burst out,
flushing like a girl; "it's just Joel's absent-mindedness. He meant
to be here in season, I know; but he walked out some hours since, and
where he is now, or when he will remember to come back, I _don't_ know.
Please don't wait for him another minute, if you can get anybody to
take his place."
"Fortunately we can," said Mr. Keith; "so please, my dear madam, do not
feel disturbed about that."
He led her into the house, and called Rupert and Wallace from the
bridal chamber, where the wedding party were assembled. Then Frank
Osborne was summoned from the parlor, where, with the other guests,
he sat waiting to witness the coming ceremony. There was a whispered
consultation; then Wallace hastened to his bride again, and whispered a
word to her, to which she gave a pleased, blushing assent, as she rose
and suffered him to draw her hand within his arm.
In another minute or two bridegroom and bride, with the whole train of
attendants, had taken their places in presence of the assembled guests,
and the ceremony began, Frank Osborne officiating.
He did not seem at all embarrassed or at a loss for words; his manner
was solemn and tender, and when the ceremony was over every one said,
"How beautiful it was!"
While the bride and groom were receiving the congratulations of
relatives and friends, Mr. Lord, having leisurely finished his tea, sat
in the farm-house porch, quietly conversing with his host. But a sudden
thought seemed to strike him, and he started up in evident perturbation.
"What is it?" asked Mr. Vail; "anything gone wrong?"
"Rather," groaned the minister, glancing at the face of his watch,
which he had just drawn from its fob. "I was to have married Wallace
Ormsby and one of Mr. Keith's daughters about fifteen minutes ago."
"Better get back to town, then, as fast as you can," returned the
farmer, laughing. "I'll harness up and take you."
"Alas, man, it's already too late!" sighed the minister.
"'Better late than never,' though, and they may be waiting for you
still."
"Why, yes; that's possible, to be sure!"
"Where shall I take you?" Mr. Vail asked, half an hour later, as they
drove into the town.
"Drive right to Mr. Keith's, if you please."
"I thought maybe you'd want to fix up a bit, seeing it's a wedding
you're going to."
"Oh, to be sure! yes, certainly! I'm glad you reminded me. I'll go home
and dress first."
"And while you're at that I'll go round and tell 'em you're
coming--just to keep 'em from getting quite out of heart, you know."
He went, and by the time Mr. Lord's toilet was completed, returned
with the information, delivered in tones of amusement and with eyes
twinkling with fun: "You've lost the job, sir; somebody else has tied
the knot; but they've sent word for you to hurry along and you'll be
in time for the refreshments. So cheer up, for that's the main thing,
after all, ain't it."
"Really I--I'm ashamed to go now," stammered the minister, looking much
mortified and embarrassed.
"Tut, tut, man! better treat it as a good joke," returned the farmer
gayly.
"I believe you're right," said Mr. Lord, and proceeded to take the
advice.
His apologies and excuses were received with good-humored raillery,
mingled with laughing assurances that he need not disturb himself;
as things had turned out 'twas all very well; it seemed a pleasant
accident that had left the performing of the ceremony to an old and
valued friend of the bride and her family.