Six Girls Part 41

"But are you sure you don't, my child? I knew he loved you all along, and it made my old heart glad; but I never knew how very dear you were to him, until he came back from here, and told me what you had said. You think marriage would interfere with your work, but it will not; why, Roger is as proud and anxious for your success as ever you could be for yourself. He told me that if you would only let him share your work and efforts, that he would take you abroad, that you should see the finest paintings the world holds, and that you should study with the finest masters. You--" but here he paused, for Olive gave a gasp, and turned white as a ghost in the moonlight. _Abroad, masters!_ The words struck her like a flash of lightning, and made her tremble with a great rush of delicious longing. She clung to the old gentleman's arm for a moment, and wondered if she was dreaming; but his next words brought her back; though she heard them but dimly.

"Here is a letter for you; he wanted me to bring it, and Olive, don't make up your mind too quickly. Both you and Roger are very dear to me, and I would like to see you both happy before I die--as I suppose I must before many years, and--and--confound it! where's my snuff?--I hope you will send a different word back to him."

Olive took the letter and put it in her pocket, still in that dazed wonder, and when they reached home, she longed to go off up stairs, and think it over alone, but it would be unkind on Bea's last evening; so she followed Mr. Congreve into the sitting-room, where a chorus of questions met them.

"G.o.d bless my soul, what curiosity!" cried the old gentleman, crustily.

"She went down town and I went after her, let that do."

So no one asked another question, except Jean, who got on to his lap with the freedom of one who knew that nothing she did would receive reproof; and she whispered something in his ear, that made him smile good-naturedly, and immediately take an immense pinch of snuff.

That night, as on the one so long ago, when Mr. Congreve made his first visit to them, two persons found it hard to sleep, even after silence and slumber had long held the others.

To-night, as on that other, Mrs. Dering sat alone in her room, only now she sat by the window, instead of the dying fire. Now, as then, Jean slept soundly, only now her childish face wore the rosy flush of health instead of feebleness and pallor, and the little form was straight and perfect, instead of crooked and crippled.

Who, but a mother, can appreciate a mother's thoughts, when she stands on the threshold of the first separation; the first giving up of her own into another's love and keeping "for better, for worse, until death should them part." The pale young moon climbed slowly up above the tree-top, and just as its slanting rays reached the window-sill, and fell in across the floor, the door opened carefully, and Olive's voice spoke:

"Mama? You are up?"

"Yes, dear; are you sick? What is the matter?"

"Nothing. I only want to tell you something;" and Olive pushed the stool up as she spoke, and sat down.

"I meant to tell you before, but somehow I never did. Will you listen now?"

"Certainly, dear;" for well enough she knew that something weighed on Olive's mind to bring her there at that time. So Olive told her story, without a blush or hesitancy, from the beginning down to the receipt of the letter; and as Mrs. Dering watched her face in the pale light, so clearly expressing its dislike to any lover, and its rapt devotion to her art, she knew well enough what the decision would be.

"And I'm going to say no," finished Olive, at last. "Have I done right, mama?"

"Perfectly, Olive. I am surprised, and yet not wholly so, for something of the kind occurred to me when he was here. Never marry where you do not love, dear. No possible advantage, influence, or station, that can be gained by a loveless marriage, will ever be sufficient recompense for the galling misery of two hearts, grinding their life out, for want of sympathy and mutual love to oil the way. I admire and think a great deal of Roger Congreve, and you have won the love of a good man, dear, which if true, will bide its time patiently, and when you are older it may seem different to you."

Olive looked up in mute amazement. Even mother said that to her.

"No," she said obstinately, in a moment. "I don't think it will be so. I know it will not. I'm sorry that he loves me, because it will always keep us from being friends. Mama, surely you would not have me do such a thing as get married, and drop my work, as I would have to do, more or less, with so many new duties?"

"No, dear, no; I am only too glad that your heart is still free, for you are too young to think of marriage. I would not consent to it. Besides you are quite right; with the duties and responsibilities of a wife, you could not devote your whole time and love to your art, and I should feel very sorry to think that anything is going to interfere with perfecting the talent which G.o.d has given you. But sooner or later, Olive, there comes to every woman, who stands alone, a yearning for love and home; a desire to feel that there is some one whom she can claim as her own, and to whom she is dearer than aught else. Love your art, dear, work faithfully in it, and if it should always satisfy your heart, I will be quite content, for then you will always be my own. If the other feeling ever comes, G.o.d will take care of it. Now go, dear; don't let this keep you awake longer, for we want all fresh faces to-morrow. Good night."

The clock struck one, as they gave a kiss in the moonlight, then Olive went slowly away; not a whit less certain, that every one was wrong, and she was right; no number of years could make any difference to her.

Everything joined in making the next day the brightest, and loveliest that had ever dawned. Never did a May morning sun come up with a purer glitter of gold; never had the birds sang so sweetly; and never before, as any one remembered, had the rose-vines over the porch, blossomed before June, and yet this morning, there were three snowy half-blown buds peeping in at the window of Ernestine's room, and she picked them to put in the bride's brown hair.

Pansy Murray came over early in the morning, and brought a beautiful bouquet to each of the sisters, excepting Bea, to whom she said with mysterious smiles: "I couldn't bring your bouquet, but our green-house man's going to come with it;" and then finding that Kittie was too busy to pay much attention to her, she devoted herself to Jean, whom she had seen once before, and fallen quite in love with.

Bea had had some little longings for a stylish wedding, but it had been impossible, besides, she had found that Walter preferred a quiet home one; so this morning, when the girls helped to dress her, and she put on her pretty brown suit, with the white rose-buds in her brown hair, she was perfectly content, and would not have had it otherwise.

"You look lovely," cried Kittie, with a rapturous sigh, when the last thing had been done, and they all drew back to inspect.

"That dress is a beauty, and you look like a daisy."

"What do you think?" cried Kat, rus.h.i.+ng in just then. "Raymond's gardener has brought your bouquet, and what do you think it is?"

"What?" cried the girls eagerly.

"A beautiful wedding-bell, all of white flowers; and he's hanging it in the folding doors;" upon which announcement, every one ran down stairs, to view the new beauty, and the bride jerked the flowery clapper by its white ribbon; then departed in haste, and with a sudden shyness, as Dr.

Barnett and the minister, were seen coming slowly up the walk.

No one cried when the supreme moment came, though Kittie was heard to sniff suspiciously, and Kat stared straight at a certain spot in the ceiling, until she was pretty near sightless; while Ernestine's eyes rested on the young wife's face, with a loving wistful sadness, that was pathetic, and made Mr. Congreve whisk his handkerchief briskly about his eyes. Mrs. Dering stood with her arm about Jean, Olive was next with her arm in Mr. Congreve's, and so they listened, and watched the little ceremony that gave Bea to another, and left the first vacancy in the home nest. As soon as it was over, and the rush of congratulations and kisses were given, Dr. Barnett took Bea's hand and with a lowly bow, said to them all:

"Mother and sisters, relatives and friends, my wife and I will be pleased to have you come with us to our new home, and help eat our wedding breakfast."

Everybody buzzed with surprise, and looked for explanation to every one else; but no one seemed to know more than another, even Bea, blus.h.i.+ng like a rose, as she put on her new hat, looked as surprised as anybody.

So there was nothing to be done but wait for some revelation.

The walk from the old home to the new, was very short, and as the gay party took it in the warm suns.h.i.+ne, every one on the way called, or smiled their congratulations to the pretty bride who walked with Uncle Ridley, while the young husband followed with his new-made mother. When they came in sight of the little cottage, there was smoke coming gayly from the kitchen chimney, and the front door stood widely open.

"What is it?" whispered Kittie, in a spasm of curiosity.

"A breakfast already for them," answered Olive. "Dr. Barnett has got Huldah, and Bea doesn't know it."

Well, dear me, what a jolly confusion did follow. Bea was too much overcome to welcome any one to her new home, and nearly gave way to tears when Huldah was seen bowing ecstatically in the back-ground, and saying over and over: "Welcome home, Mrs. Barnett, how-dy-do?"

"This is where Uncle Ridley and Olive were last night," cried Jean excitedly, throwing open the parlor door, and pus.h.i.+ng Mrs. Barnett in.

"Just look!"

Bea tried to speak, but couldn't, and threw her arms about Mr.

Congreve's neck, while everybody else "oh'd" and "ah'd" about the parlor door. For wasn't it furnished with three of the most beautiful easy chairs, a tiny lounge, two spidery-legged tables, with gilded chains--and--oh!--a piano! A s.h.i.+ny, beautiful upright piano, with a blue velvet stool.

"I didn't do it all, Olive did half," cried Mr. Congreve the first chance he had of making himself heard above the babel of admiration and grat.i.tude; whereupon Olive put in a hasty denial. She hadn't done a thing but come over and arrange. Everything was from Uncle Ridley except the silver vase and bracket, between the windows.

"Well, you've seen it now, that'll do. I was invited here to breakfast, and I'd like to have it," cried the old gentleman, in a testy voice, which the good-natured gleam in his sharp eyes denied. So everybody pranced into the dining-room, and Bea was placed behind the coffee-urn, and couldn't do a thing but blush, and look too happy and overcome to attend to her duties.

Perfect silence fell, as the young husband lifted his hand, and in a voice that trembled slightly, asked the minister to request a blessing on this, the first meal in the new home. But when that was done, everybody broke into a babel of fun again, and a merrier meal was never witnessed anywhere.

"I shall come over and call on you this afternoon, Mrs. Barnett," was Kat's good-bye, when good-bye moment came.

"Everything is lovely; may you live long, and always be thus gay," said Kittie, who began to feel a queer sensation in her throat, and wanted to get off in a hurry.

"I don't know what to say, except that I want you to be so happy, Bea dear," Ernestine said, giving a good-bye kiss lingeringly.

"Well, I think weddings are splendid, though I wish you wasn't going to have a new home, Bea," remarked Jean with regret, as she tied on her hat, and shook hands with her new brother.

"I shall miss you dreadfully, and our room will seem so lonely," was Olive's next remark. "But you must not let us be apart much."

"I will not," said Bea with full heart and eyes. "I will never love you any less, and we will all be just the same, except that you'll have a brother, and you know you've always wanted one."

"I hope you'll be happy, dear child, I do indeed," said Mr. Congreve, with an exhaustive hand shake. "But married life is full of swampy places, and you must both be careful. I've only one piece of advice, and that is, whatever you do, don't let your confidence and trust in each other get a shake, for it is the tree of married life, and one shake will knock off more apples of love and happiness than can ever be replaced."

"G.o.d bless you both," said Mrs. Dering, with one hand in that of her daughter, the other in that of her new son. "I give her to you freely, Walter, with perfect faith in your love and loyalty, and a dear daughter is the most precious gift a mother ever yielded up. Be worthy of each other's perfect love and trust, and once more, G.o.d bless you. Good-bye."

To hear, to heed, to wed, Fair lot that maidens choose; Thy mother's tenderest words are said, Thy face no more she views.