THE DOLLS' CHRISTMAS WEDDING.
On Christmas Eve Mrs. Rowe came down-stairs to see the Christmas-tree
that aunt Clara had arranged; and, to please Weezy, nurse brought the
baby.
It must be admitted that the little fellow behaved abominably; making
up faces at everybody, and even squaring his fists at the lovely
silver mug presented to him, as if he scorned the name of Donald Rowe
that Santa Claus had had engraved upon it. But then, as Weezy justly
remarked, baby was not used to company.
Everybody else fully enjoyed the wonderful tree, laden with gifts.
There was a dark merino for Ellen Nolan, an overcoat for Jimmy
Maguire, and a great package of books for the minister, Mr. Cutler.
There was a nice work-box for Lovisa, a warm red shawl for Pocahontas,
and a lovely picture-book for Kisty, beside gifts without number for
the Wymans and Rowes.
But what captivated Weezy more than all these things was the sight of
two dolls sitting under the tree side by side. One was Viola Maud,
gorgeously arrayed in a party dress of pink satin; and the other was
an elegant little bachelor in a black broadcloth suit, with white
waistcoat and gloves, and a watch no bigger than a buttercup.
"Oh, oh, oh! the _beau_tiful, _beau_tiful dollies!" cried she, dropping
on her knees before them. "O Molly, _do_ you s'pect they're for me?"
"Yes, yes, every bit of 'em," replied Molly, almost as excited as
Weezy. "And here are Viola Maud's clothes. Mamma cut 'em out, and I
sewed 'em, all but the button-holes."
"Oh, you _are_ a darling sister! Oh, what a beautiful little trunk!"
"Kirke bought you that. Doesn't it look for all the world like aunt
Clara's big Saratoga?"
Weezy pulled out the garments, one by one, uttering little squeals of
delight, and hopping up every other moment to kiss Kirke and Molly. The
trunk contained six complete suits, not counting the red jersey jacket;
and by changing about,--putting the polonaise of one dress over the
skirt of another,--Viola Maud, you see, could have two different gowns
for each day in the week.
Then there were half a dozen hats of the latest mode, and handkerchiefs
of real lace, beside two sets of under-garments all ruffled and tucked.
Certainly it was a fine outfit for a little girl of eleven to fashion,
and Molly deserved much credit.
Before the presents were taken from the tree, Kisty was brought over to
see it; and Kirke and Molly told her and Weezy all about the marvellous
doll-wedding to be celebrated on the morrow, and how Kirke was going
round early in the morning to invite the wedding guests.
"He'll bring me a card too," thought Kisty, delighted; "and I never had
a wedding-card in all my life."
Christmas dawned clear and bright; and after breakfast Kirke and
Molly bustled off to one corner of the library, with an air of great
importance.
"Are you sure you've printed invitations enough?" asked Molly anxiously.
"Hoh, yes. Here they are,--one, two, three, four, five, six, seven,"
said Kirke, counting over the cream-tinted correspondence cards in his
hand.
They were dainty affairs, and read in this way:--
_Miss Weezy Rowe
Requests the pleasure of your presence
At the Marriage of her Doll,
Viola Maud,
To Mr. Clarence Osborne,
On Christmas, at 3 o'clock P.M.
6 Oak Street.
P.S. Please bring all your Dolls._
Molly had hesitated about the postscript, but had finally concluded it
would be safer to add it.
While she was trying her pen, Kirke slipped the seven cream-tinted
cards into their seven cream-tinted envelopes, each bearing the
monogram R. O., which of course meant Rowe and Osborne.
Then Molly carefully addressed these envelopes to the seven little
girls that Weezy knew best, and laid them in a pretty willow basket,
with a white satin bow on top.
When they were ready, Kirke took the basket, and went out to deliver
them. From her mother's room Kisty Nye saw him coming down the street,
and her heart went pit-a-pat. But alack and alas! Kirke walked straight
by, and never turned his head!
He left an invitation for Jenny Lancey right opposite, and one for
Matty Lee at the corner; and after that he came back by the house to
leave one on Elm Street for that snip of a Dolly Wright, whom Weezy
hardly knew at all!
Kisty had been so sure she herself should be invited. And why not? Oh,
it was very, very hard! No wonder she nearly cried her eyes out, and at
dinner left her pudding untasted, feeling that this was a very cruel
world for a little girl only six years old.
Quarter of three came at last; and as Molly remarked, it was almost
late enough to begin the wedding.
She and Kirke had got all the old dolls together in a row on the
sitting-room lounge, to represent Viola Maud's "poor relations," when
Jenny Lancey rushed in, exclaiming, "O Molly, did you mean to leave out
Kisty Nye? She feels dreadfully because she isn't invited."
"I did invite her; I invited Kisty Nye first of any," cried Molly,
flying across the room in wild excitement. "Kirke Rowe, you've gone
and forgotten to give Kisty her invitation. You naughty, horrid boy! I
think you're just as"--
Molly bit her lips, trembling with anger, and began to cry.
"Oh, dear, dear!" sobbed she, in quite a different tone, "you've made
me lose my temper again. O Kirke! how could you, when I promised mamma
I'd try to be sweet for baby's sake?"
"I delivered every note there was in the basket, so now," said Kirke
sulkily.
"Who came to the door at Mr. Nye's? Was it the girl?"
"I don't know; I don't believe I went there," said Kirke, considering.
"I'll go and see."
"Wait, wait," said Jenny. "Take Kisty a card, can't you? She'll be mad,
not to have one like the rest of us."
"I didn't print but seven," said Kirke.
"Well, I'll write her one; she won't know the difference," returned
Molly, running into the library, and dragging out her desk.
As she lifted the lid, the first thing she saw was a cream-tinted
envelope, so plainly directed to Kisty Nye that grandma herself might
have read it without her spectacles.
"There, miss, who's to blame now?" cried Kirke triumphantly, peeping
into the envelope to make sure the card was in it.
The next moment the front-door slammed, and he was racing down the
street bareheaded, to bring Kisty; for, dearly as he loved to tease, he
could not bear to have anybody made unhappy.
You may be sure Mrs. Nye was not long in putting on her little
daughter's hood and cloak; and the rest of the wedding guests had
hardly assembled before Kirke and Kisty appeared among them, Kisty's
happy face beaming with smiles.
There was a hush in the room, when the doll bride and bridegroom,
supported by Molly, entered arm in arm, and took the places in the
bay-window, beneath a marriage-bell of Christmas evergreen. The bride
wore a white satin gown, with a most extravagant train; and her long
lace veil was fastened with a wreath of fine white flowers, supposed
to be dwarf orange-blossoms.
She stood gazing straight at the minister, while the bridegroom leaned
toward her with an affectionate stare, his left hand grasping a cambric
handkerchief, with which to dry her eyes in case she should shed tears
during the trying ceremony.
Kirke, in his father's best white necktie, officiated as clergyman;
and as Viola Maud could only say "papa" and "mamma," and as Clarence
Osborne was too much stuffed to speak at all, Molly had to make the
responses for both parties.
"Do you, Clarence Osborne, take this woman to be your _awful_ wedded
wife?" began the acting minister, in a tone of deep solemnity.
"I do," squeaked a faint voice, while the bridegroom bowed with all his
might.
"Do you, Viola Maud, take this man to be your _awful_ wedded husband?"
"I do," answered a voice still fainter; and the bride's head bent
gently, like a flower caressed by a butterfly.
"Then," said the minister clearing his throat, "I pronounce you man and
wife."
The nervous strain was over at last, but it had been too much for the
sensitive bride. As the bridegroom turned to salute her, she tottered
and fell fainting into his arms.
Fortunately, Molly, foreseeing such a catastrophe, had provided herself
with a smelling-bottle, which she now held to the nostrils of the
swooning little lady.
"Mrs. Osborne" was kind enough to revive very soon, and to receive the
congratulations of the guests crowding about her; and it was observed,
in her praise, that she greeted her "poor relations" just as cordially
as she did the most richly attired doll in the room.
Afterwards Weezy and Kisty passed around the wedding-cake and the
bride's-cake; and Molly and Kirke brought in hot chocolate in pretty
little china cups, that all might drink to the health of the bride and
bridegroom.
Oh, it was a lovely, lovely afternoon! And its close was better than
its beginning; for the little girls and their dolls were taken home in
Dr. Wyman's great double sleigh, in which Mr. and Mrs. Osborne had set
out on their honeymoon trip.
And so ended the dolls' Christmas wedding.
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