THE WEDDING-DAY.
"MAKE haste, Mr. Sun, and get up! Don't you know it is my birthday,
and, what is better, it is Dora's wedding-day? So jump up, pretty
Sunny, and be just as bright as glory all day long!"
And the sun, hearing the appeal, stood suddenly upon the summit of
the distant hills, shooting playful golden arrows into the child's
merry eyes, and among her floating hair, where they clung glittering
and glancing; while to her mind he seemed to say,--
"Oh, yes, little namesake! I know all about it; and I promise you
sha'n't find me backward in doing my share towards the
entertainment. As for a glare of light, though, I know a trick worth
two of that, as you shall see. But, first, here is my birthday-kiss.
Don't you feel it warm upon your lips?"
"O papa!" shouted Sunshine, as the fancy whirled through her busy
little brain, "it seems just as if the sun were kissing me for my
birthday."
"If the sun does, the father must; and it ought to be twice over,
because last year he lost the chance. Eight! Bless me! where shall I
put them all? One on the forehead, two on the eyes, one on the tip
of that ridiculous little nose, two on the rose-red cheeks, one in
that little hollow under the chin, and the last and best square on
the lips. Now, then, my Sunshine, run to mamma, who is waiting for
you."
The sun meantime, after a brief period of meditation, took his
resolve; and, sending back the brisk October day that had prepared
to descend upon earth, he summoned, instead, the first day of the
Indian Summer, and bade her go and help to celebrate the bridal of
one of his favorite daughters, as she knew so well how to do.
So, summoning a south-west wind, still bearing in his garments the
odors of the tropic bowers where he had slept, the fair day
descended softly in his arms to earth, and, seating herself upon the
hills, wove a drapery of golden mist, bright as love, and tender as
maidenhood. Then, wrapped in this bridal veil, she floated, still in
the arms of the gentle wind, through the forests, touching their
leaves with purer gold and richer crimson; over the harvest-fields,
whose shocks of lingering corn rustled responsive as her trailing
garments swept past; over wide, brown pastures, where the cattle
nibbled luxuriously at the sweet after-math; over lakes and rivers,
where the waters slept content, forgetting, for the moment, their
restless seaward march; over sheltered gardens, where hollyhock and
sunflower, petunia and pansy, dahlia and phlox, whispering together
of the summer vanished and the frosty nights at hand, gave out the
mysterious, melancholy perfume of an autumn day.
And from forest and field, and pasture and garden, and from the
sleeping waters, the dreamy day culled the beauty and the grace, the
perfume and the sweet content, and, floating on to where the bride
awaited her coming, dropped them all, a heavenly dower, upon her
head; wrapped the bright veil caressingly about her; and so passed
on, to lie reclined upon the hills, dreaming in luxurious beauty,
until the night should come, and she should float once more
heavenward.
But the south-west wind lingered a while, kissing the trembling lips
of the bride, fanning her burning cheek, and dallying with the
floating tresses of her hair; then, whispering farewell, he crept
away to hide in the recesses of the wood, and sigh himself to sleep.
"Dora, where are you, love? Do you hide from me today?" called a
voice; and Dora, peeping round the stem of the old oak at whose foot
she sat, said shyly,--
"Do you want me, Tom?"
"Want you, my darling? What else on earth do I want but you? And how
lovely you are to-day, Dora! You never looked like this before."
"It never was my wedding-day before," whispered Dora; and, like the
summer day and the west wind, we will pass on, leaving these our
lovers to their own fond folly, which yet is such wisdom as the
philosophers and the savans can never give us by theory or diagram.
As the fair day waned to sunset, they were married; Mr. Brown saying
the solemn words that barred from his own heart even the unrequited
love that had been a dreary solace to it. But Mr. Brown was not only
a good man, but a strong man, and one of an iron determination; and
so it was possible to him to say those words unfalteringly, and to
look upon the bride-lovelier in her misty robes of white, and
floating veil, than he had ever seen her before-with unfaltering
eyes and unchanging color. No great effort stops short at the end
for which it was exerted; and the chaplain himself was surprised to
find how calm his heart could be, and how little of pain or regret
mingled with his honest admiration and affection for Thomas
Burroughs's wife.
The carriage stood ready in the lane, and in another hour they were
gone; and let us say with Mrs. Ginniss,--radiant in her new cap and
gown,--
"The blissing of God go with 'em! fur it's thimsilves as desarves
it."
To those who remain behind when an absorbing interest is suddenly
withdrawn, all ordinary events seem to have lost their connection
with themselves, and to be dull, disjointed, and fatiguing.
Perhaps that was the reason why Kitty, as soon as the bridal party
was out of sight, crept away to her own chamber, and cried as if her
heart would break; but nothing except the natural love of mischief,
inherent in even the sweetest of children, could have tempted
'Toinette, after visiting her, to go straight to Mr.
Brown,--strolling in the rambling old garden,--and say,--
"Now, Mr. Brown! did you say that you despised Kitty?"
"Despise Kitty! Certainly not, my dear. What made you think of such
a thing?"
"Why, she said so. She's up in our room, crying just as hard! And,
when I asked her what was the matter, she hugged me up tight, and
said nobody cared for her, and nobody would ever love her same as
Cousin Tom does Dora. And I told her, yes, they would, and maybe you
would; and then she said, 'Oh, no, no, no! he despises me!' and then
she cried harder than ever. Tell her you don't; won't you, Mr.
Brown?"
The chaplain looked much disturbed, and then very thoughtful; but,
as the child still urged him with her entreaties, he said,--
"Yes, I will tell her so, Sunshine, but not just now. And mind you
this, little girl,--you must never, never let Kitty know that you
told me what she said. Will you promise?"
"Yes, I'll promise. I guess you're afraid, if she knows, she'll
think you just say so to make her feel happy. Isn't that it?"
"Yes: that is just it. So remember!"
"I'll 'memberer. Oh, there's Karlo! I'm going to look for chestnuts
with him to-morrow. Good-by, Mr. Brown!"
"Good-by, little Sunshine!"
And, for a good hour, Mr. Brown, pacing up and down the garden-walk,
took counsel with his own heart, and, we may hope, found it docile.
The next day, he said to Kitty,--
"I have been telling your brother that he had better let you board
at Yellow Springs this winter, and attend the lectures at the
college. Should you like it?"
"Oh, ever so much!" exclaimed Kitty eagerly. "But we were to keep
house together at Outpost."
"Karl thinks it will be as well to shut up the house and leave
farm-matters to Seth and Mehitable, until spring, when Mr. and Mrs.
Burroughs return. He will prefer for himself to spend the winter in
Greenfield, perhaps in Dr. Gershom's family. If you are at Antioch
College, I can perhaps help you with your studies. I take some
private pupils."
Mr. Brown did not make this proposition with his usual fluency.
Indeed, he was embarrassed to a considerable extent; and so, no
doubt, was Kitty, who answered confusedly,--
"I could try; but I never shall be fit for any thing. I never-I
never shall know much; though, if you will try to teach me"--
"I will try, Kitty, with all my heart. You have excellent abilities,
and it is foolish to say you 'never can be fit' for almost any
position."
"O Mr. Brown! it seems to me as if I was such a poor sort of
creature, compared with almost any one!"
"Dora, for instance?"
"Yes. I never can be Dora: now, could I?"
"No, any more than I could be Mr. Burroughs. But perhaps Kitty
Windsor and Frank Brown may fill their places in this world, and the
next too, as well as these friends of theirs whom they both admire."
"O Mr. Brown! will you help me?" asked Kitty, turning involuntarily
toward him, and raising her handsome dark eyes and glowing face to
his. He took her hands, looked kindly into her eyes, and said both
tenderly and solemnly,--
"Yes, Kitty, God helping me, I will be to you all that a thoughtful
brother could be to his only sister; and, what you may be to me in
the dim future, that future only knows."
And Kitty's eyes drooped happily beneath that earnest gaze, and upon
her cheeks glowed the dawn of a hope as vague as it was sweet.