MEANWHILE wedding proceedings were going on at the cottage with that
consistent vigour with which Yankee people always drive operations
when they know precisely what they are about. The wedding-day was
definitively fixed for the 1st of August, and every one of the two
weeks between had its particular significance and value precisely
marked out and arranged in Mrs. Katy Scudder’s comprehensive and
systematic schemes. It was settled that the newly-wedded pair
were, for a while at least, to reside at the cottage. It might
have been imagined, therefore, that no great external changes
were in contemplation; but it is astonishing to see the amount of
grave discussion, the amount of consulting, advising, and running
abstractedly to and fro, which can be made to result out of an
apparently slight change in the relative position of two people in the
same house.
Dr. Hopkins really opened his eyes with calm amazement—good modest
soul! he had never imagined himself the hero of so much preparation.
He heard his name constantly from morning to night occurring in busy
consultations that seemed to be going on between Miss Prissy, and
Mrs. Deacon Twitchel, and Mrs. Scudder, and Mrs. Jones, and quietly
wondered what they could have so much more than usual to say about
him. For a while it seemed to him that the whole house was about to
be torn to pieces. He was even requested to step out of his study one
day, into which immediately entered, in his absence, two of the most
vigorous women of the parish, who proceeded to uttermost measures,
first pitching everything into pie, so that the Doctor, who returned
disconsolately to look for a book, at once gave up himself and his
system of divinity as entirely lost, until assured by one of the ladies
in a condescending manner that he knew nothing about the matter, and
that if he would return after half a day he would find everything
right again: a declaration in which he tried to have unlimited faith,
and where he found the advantage of a mind accustomed to believe in
mysteries. And it is to be remarked, that on his return he actually
found his table in most perfect order, with not a single one of his
papers missing; in fact, to his ignorant eye, the room looked exactly
as it did before; and when Miss Prissy eloquently demonstrated to him
that every inch of that paint had been scrubbed, and the windows taken
out and washed inside and out, and rinsed through three waters, and
that the curtains had been taken down and washed and put through a blue
water, and starched and ironed, and put up again, he only innocently
wondered in his ignorance what there was in a man’s being married that
made all these ceremonies necessary; but the Doctor was a wise man, and
in cases of difficulty kept his mind much to himself, and therefore
he only informed those energetic practitioners that ‘he was extremely
obliged to them,’ accepting the matter by simple faith, an example
which we recommend to all good men in similar circumstances.
The house throughout was subjected to similar renovations. Everything
in every chest, or trunk, or box, was vigorously pulled out and hung
out on lines in the clothes-yard to air, for when once the spirit of
enterprise has fairly possessed a group of women, it assumes the form
of a ‘prophetic fury,’ and carries them beyond themselves. Let not any
ignorant mortal of the masculine gender, at such hours, rashly dare to
question the promptings of the genius that inspires them! Spite of all
the treatises that have lately appeared to demonstrate that there is
no particular inherent diversity between men and women, we hold to the
opinion that one thorough season of house-cleansing is sufficient to
demonstrate the existence of awful and mysterious differences between
the sexes, and of subtle and reserved forces in the female line,
before which the lords of creation can only veil their faces with a
discreet reverence as our Doctor has done.
In fact, his whole deportment on the occasion was characterized by
humility so edifying as really to touch the hearts of the whole synod
of matrons; and Miss Prissy rewarded him by declaring impressively
her opinion that he was worthy to have a voice in the choosing the
wedding-dress, and she actually swooped him up, just in a very critical
part of a distinction between natural and moral ability, and conveyed
him bodily (as fairy sprites know how to convey the most ponderous
of mortals) into the best room, where three specimens of brocade lay
spread out upon a table for inspection.
Mary stood by the side of the table, her pretty head bent reflectively
downward, her cheek just resting upon the tip of one of her fingers,
as she stood looking thoughtfully _through_ the brocades at something
deeper that seemed to lie under them; and when the Doctor was required
to give judgment on the articles, it was observed by the matrons
that his large blue eyes were resting upon Mary with an expression
that almost glorified his face; and it was not until his elbow was
repeatedly shaken by Miss Prissy that he gave a sudden start and
fixed his attention as was requested upon the silks. It had been one
of Miss Prissy’s favourite theories, that ‘that dear blessed man
_had taste enough if he would only give his mind to things_;’ and in
fact the Doctor rather verified the remark on the present occasion,
for he looked very conscientiously and soberly at the silks, and
even handled them cautiously and respectfully with his fingers, and
listened with grave attention to all that Miss Prissy told him of
their price and properties, and then laid his finger down on one whose
snow-white ground was embellished with a pattern representing lilies
of the valley on a background of green leaves. ‘This is the one,’ he
said, with an air of decision, and then he looked at Mary and smiled,
and a murmur of universal approbation broke out. A chorus of loud
acclamations, in which Miss Prissy’s voice took the lead, conveyed to
the innocent-minded Doctor the idea that in some mysterious way he had
distinguished himself in the eyes of his feminine friends, whereat
he retired to his study, slightly marvelling, but on the whole well
pleased, as men generally are when they do better than they expect; and
Miss Prissy, turning out all profaner persons from the apartment, held
a solemn consultation, to which only Mary, Mrs. Scudder, and Madame de
Frontignac were admitted; for it is to be observed that the latter had
risen daily and hourly in Miss Prissy’s esteem since her entrance into
the cottage, and she declared that if she only would give her a few
hints, she didn’t believe but that she could make that dress look just
like a Paris one, and rather intimated that in such a case she might
almost be ready to resign all mortal ambitions.
The afternoon of this day, just at that cool hour when the clock ticks
so quietly in a New England kitchen, and everything is so clean and
put away that there seems to be nothing to do in the house, Mary sat
quietly down in her room to hem a ruffle. Everybody had gone out of
the house on various errands. The Doctor, with implicit faith, had
surrendered himself to Mrs. Scudder and Miss Prissy, to be conveyed up
to Newport, and attend to various appointments in relation to his outer
man, which he was informed would be indispensable in the forthcoming
solemnities.
Madame de Frontignac had also gone to spend the day with some of her
Newport friends; and Mary, quite well pleased with the placid and
orderly stillness which reigned through the house, sat pleasantly
murmuring a little tune to her sewing, when suddenly the trip of a
merry, brisk foot was heard in the kitchen, and Miss Cerinthy Ann
Twitchel made her appearance at the door, her healthy, glowing cheek
wearing a still brighter colour, from the exercise of a three-mile walk
in a July day.
‘Why, Cerinthy,’ said Mary, ‘how glad I am to see you!’
‘Well!’ said Cerinthy; ‘I have been meaning to come down all this week,
but there is so much to do in haying-time; but to-day I told mother
I _must_ come. I brought these down,’ she said, unfolding a dozen of
snowy damask napkins, ‘that I spun myself, and was thinking of you
almost all the while I spun them; so I suppose they ain’t quite so
wicked as they might be.’
We will remark here that Cerinthy Ann, in virtue of having a high stock
of animal spirits, and great fulness of physical vigour, had very
small proclivities towards the unseen and spiritual; but still always
indulged a secret resentment at being classed as a sinner above many
others, who as church-members made such professions, and were, as she
remarked, ‘not a bit better than she was.’
She always, however, had cherished an unbounded veneration for Mary,
and had made her the confidante of most of her important secrets; and
it soon became very evident that she had come with one on her mind now.
‘Don’t you want to come and sit out in the lot?’ she said to her, after
sitting awhile, twirling her bonnet-strings with the air of one who has
something to say and does not know exactly how to begin upon it.
Mary cheerfully gathered up her thread, scissors, and ruffling, and
the two stepped over the window-sill, and soon found themselves seated
cozily under the boughs of a large apple-tree, whose descending
branches, meeting the tops of the high grass all around, formed a
perfect seclusion, as private as heart could desire.
They sat down, pushing away a place in the grass; and Cerinthy Ann
took off her bonnet, and threw it among the clover, exhibiting to
view her glossy black hair, always trimly arranged in shining braids,
except where some curls fell over the rich, high colour of her cheeks.
Something appeared to discompose her this afternoon; there were those
evident signs of a consultation impending, which to an experienced eye
are as unmistakeable as the coming up of a shower in summer.
Cerinthy began by passionately demolishing several heads of clover,
remarking as she did so that ‘she didn’t see, for her part, how Mary
could keep so calm when things were coming so near;’ and as Mary
answered to this only with a quiet smile, she broke out again:—
‘I don’t see, for my part, how a young girl _could_ marry a minister
anyhow; but then I think _you_ are just cut out for it. But what would
anybody say if _I_ should do such a thing?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Mary, innocently.
‘Well, I suppose everybody would hold up their hands; and yet if I _do_
say it myself,’ she added, colouring, ‘there are not many girls who
could make a better minister’s wife than I could if I had a mind to
try.’
‘That I am sure of,’ said Mary, warmly.
‘I guess you are the only one that ever thought so,’ said Cerinthy,
giving an impatient toss; ‘there’s father all the while mourning over
me, and mother too, and yet I don’t see but that I do pretty much all
that is done in the house. And they say I am a great comfort in a
temporal point of view; but oh! the groanings and the sighings that
there are over me!
‘I don’t think it is pleasant to think that your best friends are
thinking such awful things about you when you are working your fingers
off to help them; it is kind o’ discouraging, but I don’t know what to
do about it;’ and for a few moments Cerinthy sat demolishing buttercups
and throwing them up in the air, till her shiny black head was covered
with golden flakes, while her cheek grew redder with something that she
was going to say next.
‘Now, Mary, there is _that creature_; well—you know—he won’t take “no”
for an answer. What shall I do?’
‘Suppose then you try “yes,”’ said Mary, rather archly.
‘Oh, pshaw, Mary Scudder! You know better than that now. I look like
it, don’t I?’
‘Why, yes,’ said Mary, looking at Cerinthy deliberately, ‘on the whole
I think you do.’
‘Well, one thing I must say,’ said Cerinthy, ‘I can’t see what _he_
finds in me. I think he is a thousand times too good for me. Why,
you have no idea, Mary, how I _have_ plagued him. I believe that man
_really is a Christian_,’ she added, while something like a penitent
tear actually glistened in those sharp, saucy, black eyes; ‘besides,’
she added, ‘I have told him everything I could think of to discourage
him. I told him that I had a bad temper, and didn’t believe the
doctrines, and couldn’t promise that I ever should. And after all,
that creature keeps right on, and I don’t know what to tell him.’
‘Well,’ said Mary, mildly; ‘do you think you really love him?’
‘Love him,’ said Cerinthy, giving a great flounce, ‘to be sure I
don’t—catch me loving _any_ man. I told him last night I didn’t, but
it didn’t do a bit of good. I used to think that man was bashful,
but I declare I have altered my mind. He will talk and talk, ’till I
don’t know what to do. I tell you, Mary, he talks beautifully too,
sometimes.’ Here Cerinthy turned quickly away, and began reaching
passionately after clover heads. After a few moments she resumed.
‘The fact is, Mary, that man _needs_ somebody to take care of him,
for he never thinks of himself. They say he has got the consumption,
but he hasn’t any more than I have. It is just the way he neglects
himself!—preaching, talking, and visiting—nobody to take care of him,
and see to his clothes, and nurse him up when he gets a little hoarse
and run down. Well, I suppose if I _am_ unregenerate, I do know how to
keep things in order; and if I should keep _such_ a man’s soul in his
body, I suppose I should be doing some good in the world; because if a
minister don’t _live_, of course he can’t convert anybody. Just think
of his saying that I could be a comfort to _him_! I told him that it
was perfectly ridiculous, “and besides,” says I, “what will everybody
think?” I thought that I had really talked him out of the notion of it
last night; but there he was in again this morning; and told me he had
derived great encouragement from what I said. Well, the poor man really
is lonesome, his mother’s dead, and he hasn’t any sisters. I asked him
why he didn’t go and take Miss Olladine Hocum. Everybody says she would
make a first-rate minister’s wife.’
‘Well; and what did he say to that?’ said Mary.
‘Well, something really silly about my looks,’ said Cerinthy, looking
down.
Mary looked up and remarked the shining black hair, the long dark
lashes, lying down over the glowing cheek, where two arch dimples were
nestling, and said quietly, ‘Probably he is a man of taste, Cerinthy.
I advise you to leave the matter entirely to his judgment.’
‘You don’t really, Mary,’ said the damsel, looking up; ‘don’t you think
it would injure _him_ if I should?’
‘I think not materially,’ said Mary.
‘Well,’ said Cerinthy, rising, ‘the men will be coming home from
mowing before I get home, and want their supper. Mother has one of her
headaches on this afternoon, so I can’t stop any longer: there isn’t a
soul in the house knows where anything is when I am gone. If I should
ever take it into my head to go off, I don’t know what would become of
father and mother. I was telling mother the other day that I thought
unregenerate folks were of some use in _this_ world any way.’
‘Does your mother know anything about it?’ said Mary.
‘Oh, as to mother, I believe she has been hoping and praying about it
these three months. She thinks that I am such a desperate case, it is
the only way I am to be brought in, as she calls it. That’s what set me
against him at first; but the fact is, if girls will let a man argue
with them, he always contrives to get the best of it. I am provoked
about it too; but dear me! he is so meek there is no use of getting
provoked at him. Well, I guess I will go home and think about it.’
As she turned to go she looked really pretty. Her long lashes were
wet with a twinkling moisture, like meadow-grass after a shower; and
there was a softened, child-like expression stealing over the careless
gaiety of her face. Mary put her arms round her with a gentle caressing
movement, which the other returned with a hearty embrace. They stood
locked in each other’s arms; the bright, vigorous, strong-hearted
girl, with that pale, spiritual face resting on her breast, as when
the morning, songful and radiant, clasps the pale silver moon to her
glowing bosom.
‘Look here now, Mary,’ said Cerinthy; ‘your folks are all gone, you may
as well walk with me. It’s pleasant now.’
‘Yes, I will,’ said Mary; ‘wait a moment till I get my bonnet.’
In a few moments the two girls were walking together in one of those
little pasture foot-tracks which run cosily among huckleberry and
juniper bushes, while Cerinthy eagerly pursued the subject she could
not leave thinking of.
Their path now wound over high ground that overlooked the distant sea,
now lost itself in little copses of cedar and pitch-pine; and now there
came on the air the pleasant breath of new hay, which mowers were
harvesting in adjoining meadows.
They walked on and on as girls will; because when a young lady has once
fairly launched on the enterprise of telling another all that _he_
said, and just how _he_ looked for the last three months, walks are apt
to be indefinitely extended.
Mary was besides one of the most seductive little confidantes in the
world. She was so pure from all _selfism_, so heartily and innocently
interested in what another was telling her, that people in talking with
her found the subject constantly increasing in interest; although if
they had really been called upon afterwards to state the exact portion
in _words_ which she added to the conversation, they would have been
surprised to find it so small.
In fact, before Cerinthy Ann had quite finished her confessions, they
were more than a mile from the cottage, and Mary began to think of
returning, saying that her mother would wonder where she was when she
came home.