The moon shone serenely clear over hill and dale, her silver rays
playing on the dull gray earth with sportive fancy, while not a zephyr
seemed upon the wing, and all nature slumbered in the stillness of a
warm summer evening, when, from one of the neat white cottages of the
village of ——, issued two figures, completely enveloped in cloaks,
notwithstanding the thermometer stood at nearly ninety. Not a word was
spoken, but with stealthy steps they chased their shadows along the
silent streets for a good half mile; although twice or thrice one of the
figures paused and heaved convulsively, whether from lack of breath or
agitation seemed doubtful. At length they stopped before a cottage,
whose proximity to the church bespoke the _parsonage_; a light twinkled
through the casement; the muffled fugitives rapt gently at the door; it
was opened, and they entered.
The old moss-grown church clock had just proclaimed, in solemn tones,
the hour of nine, on the next morning, when two ladies, whose looks
bespoke them far upon the road of _time_—clad in black silk bonnets and
mitts—came slowly down the streets, shaded by the spreading elms. These
good gossips appeared deeply engaged in conversation, looking so
intently into each other’s face, that sundry fowls, young pigs, and
small dogs miraculously escaped a sudden and violent death.
“Can you believe it yet, Mrs. Potts?” cried the lesser of the two
ladies; “such a reflection upon our quiet village—good gracious and
powers! preserve us from such assurance.” Thus saying, she rolled up the
balls of her eyes, and clasped her hands together with pious fervor.
“Not only that, my dear Miss Clapper, but such an example to the
daughters of the place!” and Mrs. Potts sighed, as she thought of her
six damsels, who still remained in single blessedness, notwithstanding
the many little innocent manœuvres to which mammas will sometimes have
recourse.
“Yes, indeed, it behoves you, Mrs. Potts, to keep a sharp look-out. Will
you visit her—the good-for-naught?”
“W-e-ll, what do you think about it? If _we_ cut her all the village
will. What say you?”
“To be sure, to be sure, that’s true; her place in society depends upon
_us_, my dear. She gives such pleasant parties, such excellent soft
waffles, and then one meets sometimes such agreeable people from the
city there, which gives the girls a chance, you know, (winking
knowingly,) that it would be a pity to throw her off.”
“I agree with you, my dear Miss Clapper—and—after all, she’s honestly
married, although she stole away, like a thief in the night.”
“Suppose we just stop and ask Katy a few questions. May be they wish to
keep it a secret. Here we are by the house—shall we stop?”
“I have no objections, my dear; but you’ll get nothing out of that piece
of sour-crout.”
“I’ll pump her; leave me alone for _that_.”
Accordingly the two loving, neighborly gossips rapt at the door of the
white cottage from whence had stolen forth the fugitives the night
previous.
The loud knock announced the aristocracy of the village; the door
opened, and the sharp bluish features of Katy filled up the aperture.
Her small _gravy_ eyes blinked for a moment when she beheld the
visitors; the next Katy stood the personification of gravity.
“Well, Katy,” cried Miss Clapper, in her most dulcet tones, “how _do_
you do this fine morn? all well, I hope,” making an effort to open wider
the door.
“Why, yes, Miss; a very fine morning, and we are all well, thanks be to
goodness,” answered Katy, holding the door still closer, and protruding
her nose still farther, so that the sudden slam of the door would have
deprived that venerable spinster of that most conspicuous of all
features, a _red nose_. “Sorry I can’t ask you both in—but nobody’s
home.”
“Ah! so, then, it’s true, what we heard this morning,” said Mrs. Potts.
“Can’t say, indeed, Marm, as I don’t know what you might have heard.”
“Oh! only that your mistress ran off last night and was married, and
went away this morning in the village hack,” almost screamed Miss
Clapper.
“And so my mistress _is_ married, and I know some that would like to be
in her shoes, if they could but get the chance.”
“Well, well, Katy, no offence is meant,” cried Mrs. Potts; “when will
the bride be home?”
“She bade me tell you, Marm, and Miss Clapper, (and she wants you to
tell the village) that on Thursday evening the doors will be thrown open
and the candles lighted, and you will see _her_ and _plenty_ of wedding
cake and good wine.” Thus saying, she gently closed the door.
“So! it’s no secret after all,” cried Mrs. Potts; “Katy made no bones at
confession.”
“No! the old she devil! how I hate that creature—she always _Miss-es_
one so—never calls me any thing but _Miss_!—_Miss!_—She shan’t read
it on my tomb-stone, if I can help it,” muttered _Miss_ Clapper.
Faithfully did these village circulars perform their agreeable task.
Before the sun sank to rest, every individual, from the lady of the
member of the legislature to the shoe-black in the inn, had heard the
news, and had formed dreams of the coming event. The bride and
bride-cake—beaux and belles, had been reviewed in the mind’s eye o’er
and o’er again.