XIX

The small girls from the school, all specially arrayed in fancy white

pinafores with knots of pink ribbon, burst out of the church like a

merry bombshell while the less picturesque final ceremonies were being

completed. When Graeme and Margaret came smiling down the aisle, the

busy little maids were still vociferously strewing the path outside

with green rushes and wild iris, and as they passed, those who had

emptied their baskets ran back and picked up hasty armfuls of the

scattered flowers, and ran on in front and strewed them again, so that

for quite a long way their progress was one of gradually diminishing

splendour.

But past the gap in the road, which led across country to the Red

House, no flower-strewers came. For there the excited chatterers broke

and whirled through like a flight of sea-pies, and made straight for

the field of more substantial delights lest the boys should secure all

the best places.

The wedding-party, however, having disdained the use of carriages for

so short a distance, strolled quietly along the scented lanes, past

the Boys' School, and by the Carrefour, with no apprehension of the

feast beginning until they arrived, or of being relegated to back

seats if they were late.

The cottage and the Red House had been buzzing hives since dawn, Mrs.

Carré handling her forces and volunteers and supernumeraries with the

skill of a veteran, and with encouragement so shrill and animated that

it sounded like scolding, but was in reality only emphatic patois.

She had, indeed, left matters in the hands of certain tried elders

while she sped across the fields to the church for a few minutes, just

to see that everything there was done properly and in order. But she

was back in the thick of things before the wedding-party reached home,

and everything was ready and in apple-pie order for a merry-making

such as Sark had not seen for many a day.

First, the children were settled at their long tables in the field

behind the house, with good things enough in front of them, and active

assistants enough behind them, to keep them quiet for a good long time

to come.

Graeme and Margaret went round bidding them all enjoy themselves to

their fullest, which they cheerfully promised to do, and the eager

youngsters gave them back wish for wish, with one eye for them and one

for the unusual dainties on the tables.

"Hello, Johnnie!" said Graeme to that young man, gorging stolidly,

with a palpable interval between him and his neighbour on either hand,

but with no other visible signs of wizardry about him. "Getting on all

right?"

But there was no room for speech in Johnnie's mouth just then. He

winked one black eye solemnly and devoted himself to the business in

hand.

And Punch and Scamp, accepted favourites of the host and hostess, tore

to and fro in vain attempt to keep pace with all the attentions

lavished upon them by the guests as soon as their own desires had been

satisfied. They devoured everything that was offered and attainable

before it was withdrawn, and had no need to ask for more unless in the

matter of storage-room.

Everybody was very happy and very excited, for no such feast had been

in Sark within the memory of the oldest child present. And if Charles

Svendt's Stock-Exchange friends could have seen him--merrily circling

the tables and exhorting already distent youngsters to still greater

and greater exertions; poking them in the ribs to prove, against their

own better judgment, but in accordance with their inclinations, that

there was assuredly still room for more; bidding them "Mangez!

Mangez!" in the one word of French he could recall as specially

applicable at the moment--it is certain they would not have known him.

And Miss Penny, too, looked as if she had never enjoyed herself so

much in her life, and backed him up in all his endeavours right

heartily. And now and again, when Charles Svendt looked at her, he

said to himself, "By Jove, she's as good-looking a girl as I know, and

as clever as they make 'em!"

For there is no greater beautifier in the world than happiness, and

Hennie Penny was completely and quite unusually happy.

To the actual wedding-feast, Graeme had asked the Vicar and his wife,

and such of the neighbours as he had come to know personally,

especially not forgetting his very first friend in the island, whom he

still always called Count Tolstoi, and Mrs. De Carteret. For the rest,

he had given Mrs. Carré carte-blanche to invite whom she deemed well

among her friends, and she had exercised her privilege with judgment

and enjoyment.

The Sénéchal was there, and the Greffier, and the Prévôt and the

members of the Court, _ex officio_, so to speak, and the Wesleyan

minister who was on excellent terms with the Vicar, and the

Post-Master and his jovial white-haired father, who built the boats

and coffins for the community, and had supplied the tables for the

feast; and many more--a right goodly company of stalwart,

weather-browned men and pleasant-faced women, all vastly happy to be

assisting at so unusual an event as an English wedding.

They drank the health of the bride and bridegroom in the special

mulled wine thereto ordained by custom and prepared according to the

laws of the Medes and Persians. And Graeme, on behalf of himself and

his wife, assured them that there was no place in the world like Sark,

and that they had never enjoyed a wedding so much in all their lives,

and that if they had to be married a hundred times they could wish no

happier wedding than Sark had given them.

And of all that company, none beamed more brightly, nor enjoyed

himself more, than Charles Pixley, who, having come to curse, had, in

most approved fashion, stayed to bless, and had even beaten the

prophet's record by giving away to another the treasure he had desired

for himself.

In the usual course of things, after the feasting would have come

games and songs until dark. But that had been adjudged too much of an

ordeal by the ladies, and the onus of it was laid upon the youngsters

outside. While Margaret and Miss Penny rested from their labours, and

Mrs. Carré and her helpers cleared the rooms for the festivities of

the evening, and prepared the milder and more intermittent refections

necessary thereto, Graeme and Pixley and the Vicar and others set the

children to games and races, for which indeed their previous exertions

at the tables had not best fitted them, but which nevertheless, or

perhaps on that very account, were provocative of much laughter and

merriment.

Then, when it grew dark, and the reluctant youngsters had been cajoled

and dragged and packed off to bed, the hitherto-unprovided-for

section--the young men and maidens, all in their best and a trifle shy

to begin with--came flocking in for their share in the festivities,

and Orpheus and Terpsichore held the floor for the rest of the night.

And they did dance! Margaret and Miss Penny and Graeme and Pixley

thought they had seen dancing before, but dancing such as this it had

never been theirs to witness.

If it lacked anything in grace--and far be it from me to say so--it

more than made up for all by its inexhaustible energy and tireless

enjoyment. The men had brought their own music in the shape of a

concertina, which passed from hand to hand and with which they all

seemed on equally friendly terms.

Jokes, laughter, round dances, refreshments, interludes of smokings

and gigglings in the darkness of the verandah, occasional more

intellectual flights in the shape of songs and recitations,--mostly of

a somewhat lugubrious tendency, to judge by the faces of the auditors,

but being mostly in patois they were unintelligible to the British

foreigners,--more dances,--coats off now, to reduce the temperature of

the performers,--more refreshments, more dances,--dances with

broomsticks held between the partners, over which they slipped and

skipped to the tune of caustic comments by the onlookers,--dances

between caps laid on the floor and which must on no account be touched

by the dancers. And always the cry to the musician of the moment

was,--"Faster! Faster!"--and the race between Orpheus and

Terpsichore--between the music and the flying feet, grew still more

fast and furious.

Now Charles Svendt, as we know, did not look like a dancing man, but

dancing was one of the superficial accomplishments in which he

excelled.

Miss Penny, also, through much experience with girls, was lighter of

foot than she looked.

They stood for a time watching, and presently both their feet were

tapping to the quickstep of the rest.

"Let's have a shot at it," said Charles. "Will you?" and he looked

down at her.

"I'd love to," and in a moment they were whirling in the circle with

the rest, but with a grace that none there could rival,--gallant

dancers as the Sark boys and girls are.

"Delightful!" murmured Charles Svendt. "You dance like an angel, and

we fit splendidly," and Hennie Penny found a man's arm about her

decidedly and delightfully more inspiriting than all the arms of all

the schoolgirls in the world, and danced as she had never danced

before.

So swift and light and smooth and graceful was their flight that

before long the rest tailed off and all stood propped against the

walls to watch them.

"We've got the floor all to ourselves," murmured Miss Penny at last,

as she woke to the fact.

"We've licked them into fits on their own ground," he laughed in her

ear. "You can dance and no mistake. It's a treat to dance with a

really good dancer."

"I think we ought to stop. We're stopping their fun," said Hennie

Penny, and when he led her to a seat the rest of the room all clapped

their enjoyment.

Graeme and Margaret danced a round or two to endorse the festivities,

but they were not in it with Pixley and Hennie Penny, and they soon

dropped out and clapped heartily with the rest.

When Charles Svendt, later on, suggested another dance, Miss Penny

bade him go and dance with one of the Sark girls.

"But I don't want to dance with any of them. Besides, I don't know any

of 'em, and I couldn't talk to her if I did."

"Oh yes, you can. They all speak English."

"Do they now? It don't sound like it. Come on, Miss Penny. They

wouldn't enjoy it and I wouldn't enjoy it, and I never enjoyed

anything so much in my life as that last round."

So Hennie took pity on him, and they danced many times amid great

applause.

"Awfully good of you!" said Charles Svendt, as the dawn came peeping

in through the east windows and the open front door; and Mrs. Carré,

as Mistress of the Ceremonies, and a very tired one at that, bluffly

informed the company that it was time to go home.

"I've enjoyed it immensely," said Hennie Penny, and if her face was

any index to her feelings, there was no mistake about it.