And down Edith sank upon the sofa in unspeakable woe. Little Lucy
finished the direful story.
“Hookin’-cock, mamma, hookin’-cock! Give me a pill! Please put it in
squinch jelly!”
I must confess that mamma and Aunt Vi fell to laughing in the most
unfeeling manner. Each tried in turn to soothe poor Edith; and mamma
said that even if Mrs. Phillips’s window had been wide open,—and Jimmy
was sure it was shut,—that even with the window open it was hardly
probable that Lucy had been exposed in so short a time.
“And whooping-cough is nothing very serious here in California, my
daughter. Children suffer very little from it in this mild climate. I
wouldn’t mind Lucy’s having it some time, say next spring; but just
now,”—
Here she looked at Aunt Vi, who blushed and smiled.
“It _would_ be rather awkward just now,” said Aunt Vi.
“Yes,” returned Mrs. Dunlee; “we mustn’t have any whooping-cough in the
house till after the wedding.”
“Wedding?” repeated Edith, “what wedding?”
“Am I not a stupid woman!” exclaimed mamma, putting her hand over her
mouth. “I came very near letting out a great secret.”
“But is there going to be a wedding, mamma?”
Edith’s tears were dried now. She had thrown to the winds all her
whooping-cough fright.
“Is there going to be a wedding, mamma?”
“Yes, dear, sometime and somewhere we hope there will be a wedding. It
isn’t quite time yet to talk much about it. Very soon you will know.”
Edith looked from her mother to her aunt, her eyes full of questions.
But before she had time to put the questions into words, Aunt Vi
inquired about her blue sewing-silk. Too bad to have to stop and
explain all that; for afterwards Edith couldn’t find out the least
thing about the wedding,—whose it was, or where or when. Papa pretended
that it was very likely some Indians from Arizona.
“O papa! now you know it’s not Indians! And it’s nobody in Arizona
either. The wedding belongs right here in California.”
“Indeed! And possibly in this very house. Who knows?”
Edith felt that she was being trifled with. Who was there in this
house to be married but papa and mamma?
And they had been married already.
Then one day somebody said Mr. Henry Sanford was coming home from
Washington.
“Oh, now I know!” cried Edith. “It’s Mr. Sanford and Aunt Vi; it’s Mr.
Sanford and Aunt Vi!”
She was right. They were to be married at Christmas, just two weeks
ahead.
“If Lucy doesn’t have whooping-cough, you mean?” said Edith. “If she
does, I s’pose you’ll have to put off the wedding?”
No one answered this question. No one knew how it weighed upon Edith
and Jimmy, or how closely they watched their little sister, fearing she
might suddenly fall to coughing, and put a stop to the whole delightful
and extraordinary plans for Christmas.
But Lucy did not cough,—except when somebody reminded her.
XI
A WEE WEDDING
CHRISTMAS was almost here. One morning Mrs. Dunlee went about the house
singing,—
“The shepherds heard it overhead;
The joyful angels raised it then;
’Glory to God on high!’ it said,
‘And peace on earth to gentle _men_.’”
“That’s _me_,” thought Jimmy. He felt that he had a private and
particular claim on Christmas, for it was his birthday. Now birthdays
were becoming an old story to Jimmy. He had had quantities of them, and
this would be the sixth; but a wedding was something new. “_What was a
wedding?_”
Sometimes people came to the house to be married, and papa married
them in the parlor, the children not being allowed to go in. But that
“didn’t count;” what was a _wedding_?
“Where’ll they put it?” asked wee Lucy.
“It isn’t a thing you can put anywhere; it isn’t a vase or a teapot,”
replied Edith. “It’s only something that folks _do_. Aunt Vi is going
to marry Mr. Sanford,—no, he’s going to marry Aunt Vi.”
This did not help the matter much.
“What do they do it for?” asked Jimmy.
Edith herself was perplexed as to that, though she did not like to own
it.
“Oh, mamma says Mr. Sanford is coming here because papa is a
_minister_!” She spoke proudly, as if the world held but one. “Papa is
a minister, and can do it just right. ’Twill be a great deal worse than
Thanksgiving and Christmas. A monstrous cake, black as a shoe,—Kyzie
didn’t mean I should know about that,—and chicken salad, and lobster
salad, and I _think_ turkey salad. Ice-cream, I know; ice-cream,—ever
so many colors, just like a bed of flowers. And—and—well, I can’t
remember the rest.”
Jimmy’s eyes grew very brilliant. The mention of black cake, and cream
all the colors of the rainbow, had placed the wedding in a much clearer
light. He went and reported to wee Lucy, and Lucy mounted a chair and
told the looking-glass.
“Auntie’s going to be mallied! Papa’ll be there in his pulpit right in
the parlor. Roses and i-scream; worse’n Kismus, worse’n birf-days!”
“Cheer, boys, cheer!” added Jimmy, by way of chorus.
The night but one before the wedding he and Lucy were strangely wide
awake. Lucy lay in her crib at least five minutes with open eyes,
wondering why _she_ couldn’t be married as well as Aunt Vi. She meant
to ask mamma. When Jamie fell asleep it was to dream of weddings. The
weddings seemed to be made chiefly of white and pink sugar, and danced
a ring-round-rosy with papa in the middle, papa taking up a deal of
room on account of his pulpit.
There was one thing very remarkable indeed which Edith had not told
Jimmy, simply because she did not know it herself. He learned it next
day from dear Aunt Vi. It was this:—
Jimmy was to be groomsman at the wedding, and Lucy was to be
bridesmaid! Somebody had been making a beautiful white frock for little
Lucy, all embroidered with silk apple-blossoms. Some one else had been
making a charming blue suit for Jimmy, all spangled with silver.
Why shouldn’t these two children go nearly wild with rapture? Why
shouldn’t they think the wedding was made on purpose for themselves,
and that Aunt Vi had little to do with it, except to look on and admire
their new clothes?
Auntie had lived in the house ever since they could remember. They
loved her dearly, and it was very sad that Mr. Sanford should have
taken this sudden notion to come and carry her off to Washington.
“She’ll never, never see any more cherry-trees,” thought Lucy. “Georgie
has cut ’em all down!”
But they had little time to grieve over losing their aunt, little time
to pity her for being obliged to go away; their new clothes filled all
their thoughts. Jimmy felt that life had nothing grander to offer him
than the honor of being “best man” at a wedding. It was as if he was
about to become a king, and wear a royal crown.
As for Lucy, she was in such a flutter of delight, that Kyzie had to
watch her, lest she should run all over town to say to people,— “What
you fink? I’se going to be mallied to Aunt Vi.”
Mr. Sanford arrived from Washington the very day before Christmas.
Lucky for him that he was in season for the wedding!
“May I tell him about it, mamma?” asked Lucy.
Mamma thought it would do no harm.
“There’s going to be _sumfin’_ at my house to-morrow, Mr. Sanford,
worse’n _you_ ever saw! And Jimmy and I are going to stand up in it.
It’s a wedding! _Wasn’t_ you glad you came?”
“Very glad! I wouldn’t have missed it for anything. A wedding, do you
say, Miss Snippet? Pray, who is the bride?”
And he looked solemnly at Aunt Vi, whose cheeks were the color of the
buds on Lucy’s rosebush.
Lucy could not answer. She did not ’member that she had heard anyfing
about a bride.
Jimmy, who was kneeling before Mr. Sanford, had never heard of a bride.
“I’m groomsman, you know,” said he, hoping he did not look as proud
as he felt. “I’m groomsman, and Lucy is bridesmaid. We’ve got some
_splendid_ clothes! But I don’t believe there’ll be any bride. Mamma
never said anything about that.”
“Ah! But, Jimmy, if I were you I would look around sharply, and try to
find a bride. Brides are all the fashion nowadays at weddings.”
“Oh!” said Jimmy coldly. He never troubled his head about fashions. It
struck him, too, that the Dunlees ought to be able to manage their own
wedding, without the help of Mr. Sanford, a man who did not belong in
the family. Still, being a boy of good manners, Jimmy refrained from
speaking all his thoughts; he merely said, “Oh!”
Christmas dawned at last, birthday, wedding, and all. The house was
full of presents; not for the children, though. _They_ had very few
this year. And in the evening people began to call. Whether the
presents and the people made any part of the wedding Jimmy and Lucy
could not fairly make out. Nothing more was heard of a bride.
The children had been dressed quite early, and afterwards kept
up-stairs so long that they began to grow tired. By and by somebody
gave each of them a very large bouquet and said, “Come.”
They heard music, and, keeping step to it, marched gayly down-stairs.
The parlor was full of people, all richly dressed, but none of them so
fine as the little groomsman and bridesmaid—oh, by no means!—or half so
well pleased with their clothes! Aunt Vi and Mr. Sanford were going
into the parlor too.
Nobody spoke; that sweet music was playing. Mamma whispered to Jimmy
to take Lucy’s hand; and the two children went up to join Aunt Vi and
Mr. Sanford in the bay-window. Lucy stood beside Aunt Vi, and Jimmy-boy
beside Mr. Sanford, as had been agreed upon beforehand.
All heads were turned that way. The little groomsman and bridesmaid
felt that the proud moment had come when they were to be seen and
admired by the whole world. Lucy felt Aunt Vi tremble, and wondered why
she should be so frightened. Or was she only cold? Lucy stole a quick
glance at her face. Why, how pale it looked! the pretty pink color all
gone out of her cheeks! Her dress was soft, cream-colored silk, with
only lace on it, not half so sweet as the apple-blossoms on Lucy’s.
[Illustration: “The little groomsman and bridesmaid.”
_Page 150._]
Lucy did not speak. She had promised she wouldn’t; and besides, there
was no chance for anybody to speak. Papa was standing there, just going
to preach, though, to be sure, he had no pulpit. It wasn’t much of
a sermon, either. He only asked some questions, and Aunt Vi and Mr.
Sanford answered so low you could hardly hear. Then there was a ring
put on Aunt Vi’s finger, and papa talked some more, and prayed a little.
Lucy drew a long breath, but kept perfectly quiet. Jimmy was quiet
too, though they both looked sober and surprised. _This_ was not
funny in the least, not at all what they had expected. There was no
“ring-round-rosy,” or “button, button,” or dancing, or _anything_ nice.
And this was what they called a wedding!
But it was over before very long, and then the people began to stir
again. There was a buzz of pleasant talking all through the room.
People here and there laughed softly; but mamma and one or two other
ladies put their handkerchiefs to their eyes. It couldn’t be that they
were crying? How strange! how very strange! Grown-up ladies crying at a
party!
And people were coming up to kiss Aunt Vi, and shake hands with Mr.
Sanford. What was that for? If they had only kissed Jimmy and Lucy, and
said how spl-en-didly they looked, and how well they had behaved, there
might have been some sense in it.
Jimmy’s lip curled a little.
And who was _Mrs. Sanford_? Again and again people went up to Aunt Vi,
and said, “My dear Mrs. Sanford,” which of course wasn’t her name.
Then everybody went out to the dining-room. But think of setting a
noble groomsman like Jimmy, and a fair bridesmaid like Lucy, off in a
corner, and telling them to “stay there and not speak yet”!
And before anybody had a chance to eat much, something else happened.
Jimmy heard wheels, and, peeping through the window, saw that a
carriage had been driven up the gravel path,—a carriage with blue
velvet cushions and two handsome chestnut horses.
There it stood and stood. Nobody knew it was there but Jimmy.
And presently Aunt Vi went off in this carriage, and Mr. Sanford went
with her. The oddest thing! Right away from the company! So impolite!
Mamma was crying just a little in the hall before they started. Auntie
had on a different dress and a new bonnet. She held the children close,
and dropped a tear on Lucy’s cheek. Poor, poor auntie! how she did hate
to go! But Mr. Sanford hurried her into the carriage, which rolled
away; and then mamma and papa went back to the dining-room, and went
on eating chicken-salad.
Up to this time, during all the topsy-turvy proceedings, people had
seemed very cold-hearted, or very forgetful; but now they began to take
notice of Jimmy and Lucy. They said they were the sweetest groomsman
and bridesmaid ever seen, as lovely as fairies; and gave them more
kisses twice over than had been given Aunt Vi.
“I dare say this is the first wedding you ever saw, my love?” asked one
of the ladies of Lucy.
Lucy turned uncertainly to her mother. “Mamma, did Jimmy and I ever
mally anybody before?”
“No, dear.”
The children were eating ice-cream now, their hearts growing every
moment happier and lighter. Still the chief event of the evening
remained a dark mystery.
“What made Aunt Vi go off with Mr. Sanford?” asked the bewildered Jimmy.
Papa replied,—
“Because she loves him best of anybody in the world.”
“Better’n _me_?” said Lucy, looking for her handkerchief.
The good clergyman tried to explain to his children that there are many
kinds of love in the world, but all are beautiful and sweet. Then he
talked of Christmas, and of God’s sending his blessed Son to us upon
that day, a little child.
“God’s love is best of all,” said Mr. Dunlee. “Did you ever fancy for a
moment, little ones, what we should do without our Father’s love?”
“Die, _I_ think,” replied Jimmy, shivering and drawing nearer to his
little sister. “We should all cuddle up together and die in a heap.”
But Lucy could talk of nothing but the wedding.
“Auntie never telled me a thing. Did she mally Mr. Sanford ’cause she
loved him?”
“To be sure,” said Mr. Dunlee.
Lucy drew a quick breath.
“Well, I love my brother better’n that; I love him ’way up to the moon.
Won’t you mally me and my brother?”
“Oh, yes,” laughed papa. “Put down your cake, and stand up here, both
of you.”
They stood up. It was a lovely sight as the full light of the
chandelier shone down upon them in their bridal array, and turned the
hair of both to shining gold.
“I pronounce you brother and sister,” said Mr. Dunlee.
And then he laid his hands upon their innocent heads in silent
blessing. They did not know what he said, for he said it only to God;
but they were both very happy.
“Now you are bound to each other by a chain of love,” said mamma,
embracing them. “I hope you will be more brotherly, Jimmy-boy, every
time you think of it; and I hope you’ll be more sisterly, my little
Lucy.”
“So we’ve finished off with a wee wedding,” said Aunt Jessie Pauly.
And the other guests responded,—
“How beautiful!” and drank healths to “the bonnie wee pair,” who were
proud to be the centre of notice at last.
SOPHIE MAY’S “LITTLE-FOLKS” BOOKS.
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terrible.’ There was an instant attack upon his hair, which was so long
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—————
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Transcriber’s Notes:
Obvious punctuation errors repaired.
Page 18, word “to” added to text (to be a manly)
Page 137, word “I” added to text (here till I)