RIDES, drives, sports of various kinds, and preparations for the
wedding, made the time pass very rapidly and pleasantly to the young
folks at Viamede, Magnolia Hall, and the Parsonage, until at length all
was in readiness for the expected festivities.
The ceremony was to be performed at the church, the Rev. Cyril Keith
officiating, and to be immediately succeeded by a wedding breakfast on
the lawn at Magnolia Hall. That was to be about noon, so did not
interfere with the usual morning meal and family devotions at Viamede.
When these had been attended to, the ladies and young girls scattered to
their rooms to dress for the important occasion.
It had been arranged that Grace Raymond and Rose Lacy were to act as
flower girls, dressed in white tarlatan, and white hats trimmed with
white ribbon, and each carrying a basket filled with white roses, white
japonicas, and smilax. Rose Travilla, Evelyn Leland, and Lulu Raymond,
dressed as had been planned at the first, were to act as bridesmaids,
while Lora Howard, Maud and Sydney Dinsmore, were to be maids of honor,
dressed in white, and carrying bouquets of white flowers.
Betty's own dress was a rich white silk, trimmed with elegant and costly
lace--the gift of her brother-in-law, Mr. Embury--and a tulle veil,
fastened to her head with a wreath of orange blossoms. Her bouquet was
of bride roses and smilax. The Dinsmore and Howard cousins were to act
as ushers and groomsmen.
All this had been satisfactorily arranged, and rehearsals gone through
with several times at Magnolia Hall and Viamede, that each one might be
perfect in his or her part; otherwise timid little Gracie could not have
been induced to undertake her share in the ceremony.
When she and Lulu were dressed for the occasion they went in search of
their father to ask his opinion of their appearance and attire. He
scanned each daintily attired, graceful little figure with a look of
proud, fond affection, clasped them in his arms and kissed them
tenderly.
"My darlings look very sweet in their father's eyes," he said; "but do
not be too proud of your appearance, for fathers are apt to see their
own children through rose-colored glasses; and it is not very likely
that you will attract particular attention among so many attendants upon
the bride, who will doubtless be gazed upon more admiringly and
critically than anyone else."
"I'm ever so glad of that, papa," Gracie said, with a sigh of relief;
"because I don't like to be viewed with a critic's eye," she concluded
with a merry, though slightly disturbed little laugh.
"Well, dear child, just try to forget yourself, and I have no doubt
everything will go right," he said, drawing both her and Lulu closer
into his arms for a little more petting and caressing.
That was interrupted by the entrance of their mamma Vi, coming upon the
same errand that had brought them.
"Will I do, my dear?" she asked, with a bright, winsome smile.
"Ah, my Violet, my sweet and beautiful flower," he returned, regarding
her with ardently admiring eyes, "I fear you will outshine the bride.
You look very like one yourself, except a most becoming air of maturity;
scarcely older and certainly not less beautiful than when you gave
yourself to me."
"And accepted you in return; deeds which I have never yet for a moment
regretted," she said, with a coquettish smile up into his face; for he
had put his little girls gently aside and risen to take a critical
survey of his young and beautiful wife.
"And never shall if in my power to prevent it, my love, my darling," he
said low and tenderly, laying a hand upon her shoulder, and bending
down to press a fond kiss upon her lips.
They were in the library, whither the captain had gone, after arraying
himself for the wedding festival, to wait for the ladies and damsels who
were to go under his care.
"Ah, Brother Levis, I have caught you in the very act," laughed Rosie,
dancing into the room, already in bridesmaid's attire, and looking but
little less attractive than Violet herself.
"Ah! and what of that, little sister?" he asked. "Who has a better right
than her husband to bestow caresses upon a beautiful and attractive
woman?"
"Captain Raymond, being my teacher, has an undoubted right to question
me in the school-room," laughed Rosie, with an arch look up into his
face, "but--I don't know that he has here and now. Now please let me
have your candid opinion of my dress and appearance."
"You will do very well, little sister; there is no fault to be found
with your appearance, so far as I can see," he answered in a
non-committal tone, and with a mischievous twinkle of fun in his eye.
At that Rosie pretended to pout. "You keep all your compliments for Vi,"
she said. "But--ah, here comes Eva, and I wonder if you can afford one
to her. She is certainly worthy of it."
Evelyn did indeed look sweet and fair in a becoming white chip hat and
her pretty dress of pale blue silk trimmed with lovely lace.
Rosie's own dress was a delicate pink; Lulu's canary color; all of the
same material.
"That she is, in my opinion," returned the captain, bestowing a fatherly
caress upon the young orphan girl, then offering the same to Rosie.
"Well, now, you are a nice brother--my big, big brother, you remember,"
she laughed, "so I won't repulse you; help yourself and let us have it
over."
Just at that moment her mother came in, dressed for the wedding in a
beautiful pearl-colored silk and point lace, a knot of white roses at
her throat and in her belt, her lovely and abundant golden brown hair
simply and tastefully arranged.
"Mamma!" exclaimed Violet, "you are the most beautiful and tastefully
attired one among us!"
"In the partial eyes of my daughter Violet," was the smiling rejoinder.
"But to me her youthful beauty far exceeds her mother's fading charms."
"I incline to the opinion that the fading is perceptible to no eyes but
your own, mother," remarked the captain gallantly.
"I also," said Violet; "a richer, riper bloom is all that I can see."
"Or that anybody else can," added Walter, who, ready dressed for the
wedding, had entered the room just in time to catch Violet's first
exclamation.
Then the other members of the family and the guests came flocking in,
the carriages were announced as waiting for their living freight, and
presently all were seated in them and on their way to the church, which
they found crowded with invited guests and other spectators.
The ceremony was short, but impressive. Bride, bridesmaids, flower
girls, and maids of honor were all looking their best, and behaved
admirably; groom, groomsmen, and ushers also, among whom were a brother
and an intimate friend of the bridegroom, the young cousins Arthur and
Walter Howard, Chester and Frank Dinsmore, and little Walter Travilla.
Old Mr. Dinsmore, the uncle and guardian of the bride, gave her away,
and was the first to salute, and call her by her new name on the
completion of the ceremony, the first to congratulate the groom, and
wish them a great deal of happiness.
Other affectionate greetings and best wishes followed in quick
succession; then the carriages were re-entered, and all drove to
Magnolia Hall to partake of the wedding breakfast.
The place was looking its very loveliest: the grass on the lawn like a
velvet carpet of emerald green, spangled with many flowers of varied
hues, which filled the air with delicious perfume, and there, scattered
about underneath the magnolia, orange, and other beautiful shade trees,
were many small tables resplendent with the finest napery, shining
silver, cut glass, and delicate china, and loaded with delicate and
delicious viands.
Presently every table was surrounded by a merry group quite disposed to
do justice to the tempting fare, and the air filled with the pleasant
hum of happy voices and low, gleeful laughter.
The bride and groom, with their attendants, were seated about two tables
not many feet apart, while the older members of the Viamede family and
Cousin Ronald occupied another, quite near to both; and Mr. Embury and
his Molly, with the Parsonage family, Virginia and the older Embury
children, filled a third, not far from either of the others, when
presently Nero, a great big Newfoundland dog belonging to Mr. Embury,
showed himself at his master's side, looking up wistfully into his face.
"I'm hungry, good master," were the words that seemed to come from his
lips, "and surely your faithful dog might have a taste of this feast."
At that some of the guests looked startled and astounded, too much
surprised to speak, but Mr. Embury, who was not ignorant of Cousin
Ronald's talents, though a little startled at first, recovered his wits
instantly, and replying, "Certainly, certainly, Nero; that's only fair,"
handed the dog a generous bit of chicken, and bade him carry it to a
distance and eat it. An order which was promptly obeyed.
"Ah ha, ah ha, um h'm! that's a bright and capable dog, Mr. Embury,"
remarked Cousin Ronald, elevating his eyebrows in mock surprise. "What
would you take for him, sir?"
"He is not for sale, Mr. Lilburn," was Mr. Embury's grave rejoinder.
"You must surely see for yourself, sir, that he is no ordinary dog, but
an uncommonly valuable animal. There are not many of his race who can
speak so plainly."
"Ah ha, ah ha, um h'm! that is very true, sir. I don't wonder you are
not inclined to part with him, for it is no easy matter to find a dog
that can speak such good English, nor for that matter any other
language."
"No, sir, they are scarce indeed," said Mr. Embury, "and I had no idea
Nero was one of them until he spoke just now."
"Ah, I'm afraid the power of speech will be lost by him as suddenly as
it was found," remarked Mrs. Embury with a low, gleeful laugh.
"There must certainly be a ventriloquist among us," remarked the groom,
with a searching look at Cousin Ronald.
"Ah, do you really think so, sir?" inquired Mr. Lilburn gravely, "and
would you do me the favor to point him out?"
"Well, sir, I cannot say that I am absolutely certain, but strongly
incline to the opinion that he sits in the chair occupied by yourself."
"Indeed, sir, I didna think I filled the place so ill that room could be
found in it for another mon!" exclaimed Mr. Lilburn, again raising his
eyebrows like one astonished, then sending a downward glance over his
own portly person, and assuming so comical an expression of countenance
that no one could see it without smiling or laughing outright.
So fully was he absorbing the attention of all that no one noticed the
return of Nero until words were again heard apparently issuing from his
lips.
"That was a nice morsel, master, but not enough to satisfy the appetite
of a dog of my size; so another bit, sir, if you please."
"Yes, sir, you shall have it, since you ask so politely," returned Mr.
Embury, handing him another and larger piece of the chicken, "but carry
it off where there will be no danger of contact with wedding finery."
Nero obeyed, and as he trotted away, a voice that seemed to come from
behind Mr. Embury, said whiningly:
"I'm hungry too, sir, and surely a human creature should be treated at
least as well as a dog."
At that Mr. Embury turned suddenly round as if to see the speaker,
nearly everyone else doing likewise, but no beggar was in sight.
"Well, sir," he said, "I cannot give to an invisible suppliant; show
yourself if you want anything."
"Sir," replied the voice, now seeming to come from a clump of bushes
near at hand, "I'm not used to begging, and don't want to be seen. Can
you not send a servant here with a plateful of your most toothsome
viands?"
"Quite a modest request, sir," returned Mr. Embury, laughing. "But I
think you will have to wait till the servants have more leisure; at
present they are all fully occupied in waiting upon my guests."
"But then you'll let him have something to eat, won't you, papa?"
pleaded little Mary Embury. "You never do turn anybody away hungry."
"Certainly not, little daughter; if he could be found he should be fed."
"But shan't I drive him out, sir?" queried a servant man; "we doan' want
no beggahs 'bout yar. Dey mout help deirselfs to some o' de silvah when
nobody aint lookin'."
"Well, Bill, you might drive him out; he's perhaps a tramp watching his
opportunity to help himself."
Bill, well pleased with the errand, set down with alacrity the dish he
carried, and hurried toward the clump of bushes that apparently
concealed the tramp. "Ki, you ole tief you!" he cried, "git long out ob
dis; nobody doan' want yo' hyar! I'se break yo' skull fo' yo' ef ye doan
be gone putty quick!"
He pulled apart the bushes as he spoke, but instantly started back in
astonishment and terror as he perceived that no one was concealed there.
"Whar dat fellah dun gone?" he exclaimed. "Dis chile doan' see nobody
dar nohow 'tall!"
"Ha, ha! you don't look in the right place," cried the same voice that
had begged for food a moment before, the speaker seeming to be directly
behind him; and Bill wheeled about with unusual alacrity with the
intention of seizing his tormentor, but turned almost white with terror
on perceiving that no one was there.
"Wha--wha--wha dat raskil done gone?" he exclaimed, "t'ot he right dar,
an' he aint nowhar 'bout."
"Never mind, Bill; it seems he has saved you the trouble of driving him
off," said Mr. Embury, "and you may come back to your duties. More
coffee is wanted here."
Bill obeyed, but on his return with the coffee kept glancing
apprehensively in the direction of the bushes.
"I wonder where the man did go!" exclaimed little Mary presently. "I've
been watching, and don't know how he could get away without being seen."
"Beggars are sometimes very quick at hiding, little lassie," remarked
Mr. Lilburn.
"Ha, ha! so they are!" cried the voice of the beggar, sounding as though
he stood just behind her chair.
"Oh!" she exclaimed, with a start and a backward glance. "Why, where is
he? I don't see him at all."
"Don't be frightened, daughter," Mr. Embury said in an encouraging tone.
"No, bit lassie, he's not dangerous," remarked Mr. Lilburn, with a
reassuring smile.
"Oh, do you know him, sir?" she asked, looking up inquiringly into his
face.
"I didna see him," replied the old gentleman laughingly, "but judging by
his voice I think I know who he is--a quiet, inoffensive countrymon o'
me ain."
"Ah, yes, a rather intimate acquaintance of yours, sir, is he not?"
queried Norton, with a searching look into the face of the old
gentleman and a half mocking smile.
"I think I may have heard the voice before, sir," Mr. Lilburn replied
with unmoved countenance. "It is not unusual for beggars to accost one
who is by no means o' the same class as themselves. In fact, as ony body
can see, it would be useless to ask alms o' those no richer than
themselves."
"Ah, true enough, sir!" was the reply.
Meanwhile, many mirthful glances had been exchanged by
those--particularly the young folks--acquainted with the secret of
Cousin Ronald's peculiar talent, and the guests at more distant tables
were looking on with a good deal of curiosity. Bill was presently
questioned as he passed them on his way to and from the kitchen. "What
was it you saw yonder in that bush, Bill?"
"Nothin' 'tall, sah."
"But you seemed frightened; you looked scared."
"Dat's de reason, sah; somebody talkin' an' nobody dare."
"Why, how was that, Bill?" queried another voice.
"Dunno, sah; maybe witches roun'; 'spect dat de splanation ob de
mattah."
"Oh, of course," laughed the gentleman; "but one hardly expects such
company at a wedding."
Questions were put to Mr. and Mrs. Embury and others as the guests drew
together again upon the conclusion of the meal, but no satisfactory
answers were elicited.
A reception occupied some hours after that, then all returned to their
homes, to meet again at Viamede in the evening, where a beautiful and
bountiful entertainment awaited them.
The next evening a smaller party was given at the Parsonage, and on the
following afternoon the bride and groom took their departure for a
little trip northward, expecting to settle down in their own home upon
their return.