"Isn't it surprising what an array of things a woman can drag forth,
burrowing into attics, rooms and nooks! Things long out of mind; an
_old_ thing; a worn-out thing; but it has lain in that room, nook or
bag until just such a riot of soap and scrubbing brush brings it out.
And, as I think of it, a human mind could, and should go through just
such a ransacking, occasionally; for you don't know _half_ of what an
accumulation of rubbish is kicking about, in its dark, musty corridors.
Old fashions in thoughts; bigotry; vanity; all lying stagnant. So why
not drag out and sort all that stuff, discarding all which is of no
valuation? About half of us will find, in our minds, a room, having on
its door a card, saying: "It Was Not So In My Day." Go _at_ that room,
right off. That "My Day" is long past. "Today" is boss, now. If that
"My Day" could crawl up on "Today," what a mix-up in World affairs
would occur! Ox cart against aircraft; oil lamps against arc lights!
Slow, mail information against radio! But, as all this stuff is laid
out, what will you do with it? Nobody wants it. So I say, burn it, and
tomorrow morning, how happy you will find that musty old mind!"
But His Honor's mansion finally got back to normal as clouds of dust
and swats and slaps from dusting cloths had shown Lady Gadsby and
Kathlyn that "that parlor was simply awful" though Gadsby, Julius and
Bill always had thought that "It looks all right," causing Kathlyn to
say:--
"A man thinks all dust stays outdoors."
Though marrying off a girl in church is a big proposition, it can't
discount, in important data, doing a similar act in a parlor; for,
as a parlor is a mighty small room in comparison with a church, you
can't point to an inch of it that won't do its small part on such an
occasion; so a woman will find about a thousand spots in which to
put tacks from which to run strings holding floral chains, sprays,
or small lights. So Gadsby, Bill and Julius, with armfuls of string
and mouthfuls of tacks, not only put in hours at pounding said tacks,
but an occasional vigorous word told that a thumb was substituting!
But what man wouldn't gladly bang his thumb, or bark his shins on a
wobbly stool, to aid so charming a girl as Kathlyn? And, on that most
romantically important of all days!!
Anyway, that day's night finally cast its soft shadows on Branton
Hills. Night, with its twinkling stars, its lightning-bugs, and its
call for girls' most glorious wraps; and youths' "swallowtails", and
tall silk hats,--is Cupid's own; lacking but organ music to turn it
into Utopia.
And was Gadsby's mansion lit up from porch to roof? No. Only that
parlor and a room or two upstairs, for wraps, mascara, a final
hair-quirk, a dab of lip-stick; for Kathlyn, against all forms of
"vain display," said:--
"I'm only going to marry a man; not put on a circus for all Branton
Hills."
"All right, darling," said Gadsby, "you shall marry in a pitch dark
room if you wish; for, as you say, a small, parlor affair is just as
binding as a big church display. It's only your vows that count."
So but a small group stood lovingly in Gadsby's parlor, as Parson Brown
brought into unity Kathlyn and John. Kathlyn was _radiantly_ happy; and
John, our famous organist, was as happy with only charming Sarah Young
at an upright piano, as any organist in a big choir loft.
But to Lady Gadsby and His Honor, this was, in a way, a sad affair;
for that big mansion now had lost two of its inhabitants; and, as many
old folks know, a vast gap, or chasm thus forms, backward across which
flit happy visions of laughing, romping, happy girlhood; happy hours
around a sitting room lamp; and loving trips in night's small hours to
a room or two, just to know that a small girl was all right, or that
a big girl was not in a draft. But, though marrying off a girl _will_
bring such a vacancy, that happy start out into a world throbbing with
vitality and joy, can allay a bit of that void in a big mansion, or a
small cabin. A birth, a tooth, a growth, a mating; and, again a birth,
a tooth, and so on. Such is that mighty Law, which was laid down on
that first of all days; and which will control Man, animal, and plant
until that last of all nights.
So it was first Nancy, and now Kathlyn; and Branton Hills' gossips
thought of Bill and Julius, with whom many a young, romantic maid would
gladly sit in a wistaria-drooping arbor on a warm, moon-lit night;
flighty maids with Bill, adoring his high class social gossip; studious
maids with Julius, finding much to think about in his practical talks
on physics, zoology, and natural history. But Bill and Julius had shown
no liability of biting at any alluring bait on any matrimonial hook;
and Gadsby, winking knowingly, would say:--
"Bill is too frivolous, just now; and Julius too busy at our Hall of
Natural History. But just wait until Dan Cupid starts shooting again,
and watch things whiz!"