"You are very kind, Carrie. I should like it dearly. But would it be
right to leave my uncle and aunt?"
"If they say you may, Lucy. I have thought it well over before I
mentioned it at all; and I'm sure you would enjoy yourself."
"I know that. May I have a day or two to think of it, Carrie?"
"As many as you like, so that you only come, dear. Now, I'm going
off; I haven't a minute to spare.--By-the-by, Alice and Minnie will
likely be at papa's, too, all December, so that is another
inducement. Goodbye." She stooped and kissed Lucy, and ran out of the
house.
Pretty soon Aunt Hepsy came in, looking very grave and sad. She took
up her knitting, and for a bit neither spoke.
"Three months is a long time, Aunt Hepsy," said Lucy at last.
Aunt Hepsy never spoke.
Then Lucy rose and came to her, and laid her arm about her neck. "You
don't want me to go, auntie, I know you don't."
"Go away; I didn't say I didn't," said Aunt Hepsy in her gruffest
tones.
"Auntie, if you will only tell me you would rather I stayed, I won't
go."
"Don't ask questions, child. I guess I'd never live through them
three months. As well go away for ever almost."
"Then I won't go," said Lucy stoutly. "I'd dearly like to be at
Carrie's wedding; but I can't leave you, auntie, for so long." And
from that decision no persuasion could induce Lucy to depart--she was
firm as a rock; but Aunt Hepsy made a little private arrangement of
her own, which was to be kept a profound secret from the bride-elect.
Judge Keane travelled to New York the day before Christmas with a
young lady under his care; and when the pair were ushered into Dr.
Goldthwaite's drawing-room, the bride-elect saw, peeping out from
among the rich furs which Aunt Hepsy had provided for her darling, a
face she loved very dearly, and which could belong to nobody in the
world but Lucy Hurst.
They were all together in the long drawing-room, waiting only the
coming of the bride, ere the solemn ceremony could be performed.
There was a large company, for the Goldthwaites had a wide circle of
acquaintance. Conspicuous among them were the friends we know
best--all the Keanes (save the invalid mother, who thought and prayed
for them at home), and Tom and Lucy Hurst. It had been a surprise to
Lucy to find him at New York. She had not expected to see him again
till the summer-time. She looked very fair and sweet in her delicate
white dress, but was utterly unconscious of the admiration she was
creating; and of the close observation of a pair of dark earnest
eyes, which had been the first gleam of comfort to her when her
mother died.
By-and-by, old white-haired Dr. Goldthwaite came in with Carrie on
his arm, and they took their places silently; and in a very few
minutes Frank had uttered the irrevocable words, and the wedding was
over. Then Mr. and Mrs. George Keane received abundant
congratulations, and they adjourned to partake of breakfast. In the
hall stood a quantity of baggage labelled "Mrs. Keane," which seemed
very formidable, but was not much after all, considering the
travellers were going to Europe. Yes; the young pair were to have a
six months' tour before settling down at Pendlepoint, and some felt
as if Carrie were going away for ever. She looked very grave and sad;
and when she came down ready to go, broke down utterly bidding her
mother good-bye.
"Now then, this will never do," said Judge Keane, with that comical
smile of his. "George, get your wife into the carriage, or we shall
have her rueing she ever promised to follow you."
Carrie smiled through her tears, and shook her finger at the judge.
Then, as she turned to go, a light touch fell upon her arm, and a low
voice whispered tremulously,--
"May God bless you all your life, Mrs. Keane."
It was Lucy, her great eyes shining with unspeakable love and
tenderness.
"Never Mrs. Keane to you, Lucy, my pet," she whispered back. "Carrie
always, and always. Write to me."
Then she was hurried out to the carriage, forgetting in the
excitement of the moment that she possessed no address to give. The
door closed upon them, the coachman sprang to the box, and the next
moment they were gone. They had embarked together on the sea of life,
and the voyage bade fair to be a happy and prosperous one.
"I don't like weddings," said Judge Keane discontentedly. "They are
miserable, heart-breaking things at the best."
"Time was when you did not think so, judge," said the doctor, with a
twinkle in his eye.--"Eh, little one?"
It was Lucy whom the doctor addressed, and she answered timidly, "It
is very sad to give away those we love, as you have done to-day,
sir."
"Wait till somebody wants to take you away, my lady," laughed the
judge. "There'll be an earthquake at Thankful Rest."
"I never heard any one speak as you do, Judge Keane," said Lucy, with
a dignity which dumfoundered Tom; and she moved away and sat down by
Mrs. Goldthwaite, and began to talk to her about Carrie.
"What makes you look so sober, Tom Hurst?" queried Minnie Keane's
voice at his elbow a few minutes later.
"Shall I tell you, Minnie?"
"You must," was the calm reply.
"It seems to me, then," he said very slowly, "that Lucy is growing
up, and I don't like it. Do you?"
"I don't mind. Everybody grows up and marries, and goes to Europe,
and dies after a bit; that's about what life amounts to--not much, is
it?"
Tom laughed, he couldn't help it; but after a bit he answered
gravely, "I am afraid to grow up myself, Minnie."
"Why?"
"Because a man has so much responsibility, so much to do for God: I
don't think it will be very easy."
"Oh, I do!" answered Minnie. "Just do all you can, with all your
might; that's what mamma says, and it's the easiest way."
"So it is," said Tom. "I shan't forget that, Minnie."
And neither he did.