THE WEDDING.
"I've got the greatest piece of news for you, you ever heard!" cried
Marion, bursting into the room where Florence, Rachel, Mattie, and Sarah
were sitting one morning in the early part of June. "Guess who's
engaged?"
"Engaged!" echoed Sarah; "I'm sure I don't know."
"Yourself," said Mattie.
"Oh, pshaw! don't be ridiculous!" said Marion. "Come now, girls, guess
somebody rational."
"Well, aren't you rational, I should like to know?" asked Rachel.
"I shouldn't be if I were engaged," retorted Marion; "but guess now;
every one but Florence, for I think she would guess right."
"Oh, tell us, Flo, do," urged Sarah; "Marion will keep it all night."
"No, I won't," cried Marion; "it's _Miss Christine_."
"Miss Christine!" shouted every girl, jumping to her feet in
astonishment,--"to whom?"
"Why, M. Béranger, of course," said Florence; "who else could it be?"
"Why, I never thought of such a thing," said Rachel.
"Well, I don't know where your eyes have been," said Marion; "for I've
suspected it a long time, and so has Florence."
"Oh, I thought he liked her, and she him; but I never thought of
_that_."
"Well, I think it is perfectly horrid!" declared Sarah.
"Why, Sallie, what do you mean?" said Marion; "I think it's splendid."
"Oh, of course, it's all very nice for you girls who are going away at
the end of the term; but here I've got to stay another year, and I shall
_die_ without Miss Christine!"
"But you'll have her just the same," said Marion; "they're going to live
here for a year at least; it almost makes me want to come back again."
"Going to live here?" cried Sarah, clasping her hands with delight;
"then I _do_ think it's perfectly magnificent!"
"Tell us all about it, Marion," asked Mattie; "how did you know it?"
"Miss Christine told me herself. You ought to have seen how pretty she
looked! She blushed like any girl, and I just threw my arms round her
and gave her a good hug. She told me I might tell the girls who were
going to leave this term; but she didn't want the others to know it at
present, and here I've been, and let the cat out of the bag; for I
didn't see Sallie when I came in, and never dreamed she was here.
Sallie, if you lisp a word of it, I'll have you shut up, and kept on
bread and water for a week, and you shan't go to the wedding."
"Is she going to be married during school?"
"I shouldn't wonder; but I couldn't get it out of her when. Now, girls,
we must give her a handsome present."
"It ought to be from the whole school," suggested Florence.
"Yes, so I think; but don't you think it would be nice if we six girls,
who have been here four years together, should all work her something?
My idea is to make an ottoman: one work the middle, four the corners,
and the other fill it up; what do you say?"
"A capital idea!" said Mattie; "and I choose the filling up, for that's
the only part I like to do."
"You're welcome to it," said Marion, "for we all hate it."
"Mab, couldn't you design it yourself?" asked Florence; "it would be so
much handsomer, and Miss Christine would think all the more of it."
"Nothing I should like better, if you'll all trust me."
"Of course we will," said Mattie; "you designed your carpet-bag, didn't
you? It is a perfect beauty!"
"Let me see it," said Sarah. "It's a new one, isn't it?"
"Oh, what handsome letters!" said Rachel. "There, now I see for the
first time why the girls call you Mab. I always thought it was such a
queer nickname for Marion."
"Why, didn't you know?" answered Marion. "M. A. B., Marion Ascott
Berkley; but I never write my whole name; I like just the two, Marion
Berkley, a great deal better."
"Do you know," said Sarah, in the most serious way, "I don't think 'Mab'
seems to suit you so well as it used to? then you were sort
of--well--but now you're kind of--I don't exactly know what, but
different from the other."
"Sallie, you are a goose!" laughed Marion, as Sarah's lucid description
of the change in her character produced a shout from the girls. "I shall
have to muzzle you until you manage your tongue better;" and quick as a
flash Marion seized her satchel, and clapped it over Sarah's head, who
resisted violently; "will you be a good girl if I let you out?"
"Yes! yes!" cried Sallie, from the inside of the bag, her voice almost
drowned by the laughter of the girls.
"Well now, behave yourself," said Marion, as she released her prisoner,
"and next time don't talk of what you know nothing about."
"Well, you are, any way!" cried Sarah, brushing the hair out of her
eyes.
"Take care!" laughed Marion, shaking the satchel at Sarah; "you know
what you have to expect."
"Come, girls, let's go downstairs and tell the others," said Rachel.
"So we will," said Marion; "they ought to have known it as soon as we
did;" and down they all went.
Miss Christine's engagement did not long remain a secret, and when the
knowledge became general, the little woman was fairly showered with
kisses and caresses. Her scholars had almost worshipped her before, but
now she seemed invested with a new importance, and was quite enveloped
in a perpetual incense of love and admiration. M. Béranger, in the
comparatively short time he had been with them, had won the respect of
all his pupils; but now that he was going to marry their Miss Christine
they made a perfect hero of him.
It came out, at last, that the marriage was to take place the last day
of June, two days later than the usual one for closing school. Miss
Christine's first idea had been to be married very quietly in church,
inviting any of the scholars who chose to do so to remain over; but the
girls all begged her to have a "regular wedding," as they called it, and
she had consented.
Every one of the scholars was perfectly delighted at the idea of staying
over to the wedding, and all were anxiously looking forward to the
important day. Invitations were sent to those of the parents with whom
Miss Christine was personally acquainted, and the girls had great fun
planning and replanning how all the guests were to be accommodated for
the night, as they would have to come the night previous. Great was the
delight of Marion, when Miss Christine told her that she wanted the six
graduates to be her bridesmaids, and she immediately ran off to find the
girls and plan their dresses. They had been as busy as bees ever since
they knew of the engagement; there were but a few stitches more to set
in the ottoman, and it was to be sent the next day to Mrs. Berkley, who
was to get it mounted, and bring it up when she came.
As many of the scholars were very wealthy, while the parents of others
were in moderate circumstances, Marion had suggested that all
contributions for the present, from the whole school, should be put into
a closed box, through a hole in the cover, thus preventing any one from
having an uncomfortable consciousness that she had not been able to give
as much as another. When the box was opened, it was found to contain a
very large sum. This was forwarded by Marion, who seemed by general
consent to be considered chief of the committee of arrangements, to her
mother, with directions to use it in the purchase of a plain, but
handsome, gold watch and chain. There proved to be a surplus fund, with
which Mrs. Berkley bought a large album, in which were placed
photographs of all the girls in the school.
Miss Stiefbach had so much to occupy her mind, that several times during
the week of the wedding she was actually seen to hurry through the hall,
quite forgetful of her usual dignified glide. In fact, she seemed quite
another person; the prospect of her sister's happiness had wrought a
great change in her, and made her quite unbend to those around her.
Aunt Bettie came down several times with butter and eggs, never going
away without getting a glimpse of Marion, and for three or four days
before _the_ day, Jemima was at the house all the time, stoning raisins,
beating eggs, and making herself generally useful.
At last the wedding-day actually arrived. Mr. and Mrs. Berkley, with
several other fathers and mothers, had arrived the night previous, and
every nook and corner of the house was filled to overflowing. Some of
the scholars slept three in a bed, others on mattresses laid on the
floor; but no one thought of complaining, and the more inconvenience
they had to put up with, the better they seemed to like it; for wasn't
it all for their Miss Christine?
The six bridesmaids, with the other older girls, had been busy every
moment of the day before, making wreaths of wild flowers and roses;
these they hung early in the morning all over the lower part of the
house. The folding-doors were festooned, and trimmed with an arch of
flowers, and the walls of the little room back of them, in which Miss
Christine was to stand to receive her friends, were perfectly covered
with wreaths, garlands, and bouquets; so that it looked like a fairy
bower.
They had also decorated the church, although of that neither Miss
Stiefbach nor Miss Christine was as yet aware. The chancel-rail was
trimmed with garlands of white flowers; down the aisle were four arches,
the one at the door being of bright, glowing colors, and each one
growing paler, until the one in front of the altar was of pure, bridal
white, and over that hung a "marriage bell" of marguerites.
The girls had had to work hard, and had scoured the country far and near
for flowers; but they had done everything themselves, and not a bud was
twined in those decorations that did not take with it a loving thought
of the dear little woman in whose honor they were made.
At last everything was completed; the bridesmaids were all dressed, and
collected in Marion's room, putting on their gloves, and Marion had gone
to put on the bridal veil,--a favor which she had begged, and which had
been most readily granted; in a few moments that was done and the party
started for the church, where Miss Stiefbach and her guests were already
arrived. I doubt if it would be possible to find a prettier bridal party
in all the world, than entered that little church that glorious June
morning. First came Mattie Denton and Grace Minton; then Julia Thayer
and Alice Howard; then Marion and Florence, and directly behind them M.
Béranger and Miss Christine. The bridesmaids wore simple white muslins,
short, the upper skirts looped with clematis and rose-buds, and delicate
wreaths of the same in their hair. The bride also wore white muslin,
over which hung the bridal veil of tulle, put on with a wreath of
natural orange-blossoms and myrtle, the work of Marion's hands.
M. Béranger looked, and acted like a prince about to take possession of
his kingdom, and his clear "I vill" could be heard in every part of the
church. But the ceremony was soon over; the bridal party turned and
faced the eager, happy faces before them, and passed slowly down under
the arches of lovely flowers, out into the sunlight, the organ pealing
forth the glorious old wedding-march. Such a wedding-reception was never
seen before! There were no dignified ushers to lead you decorously up to
the bride, and whisk you off again before you got an idea into your
head; and if there had been, they would have been tremendously snubbed
by that throng of impetuous girls, who all crowded round Miss
Christine, or rather Madame Béranger, each one eager for the first kiss.
All formality was set aside; every one was radiantly happy, and,
literally, everything went merry as a marriage bell.
It would be useless to attempt to describe Miss Christine's delight at
her many presents; for, in addition to those I have already mentioned,
almost every girl in the school gave her some little thing she had made
herself. M. Béranger also received many proofs of their regard.
But the time soon arrived when the bride and bridesmaids, who were to
leave in the Boston train that afternoon, had to go and change their
dresses. The girls' trunks were all packed, and there was little enough
time for the adieus which naturally accompanied a final departure from
school. The carriage for the bride was at the door, and behind it
several wagons, of various descriptions, for the bridesmaids and their
friends. Miss Christine came down, looking so lovely, in her gray
travelling-suit, that there was a perfect rush at her for the final
good-by; but the last one was said, and in a moment she and her husband
were in the carriage and off. Sarah Brown threw an old shoe after them
for good luck, the wagons followed on, and the whole party started down
the road, amid the shouts and cheers of the girls, who crowded on to the
piazza, almost hiding poor Miss Stiefbach, as they waved their
handkerchiefs, and threw their farewell kisses in the air.