53. CHAPTER LIII.
WEDDING PRESENTS.
ST. JOHN and Angie were together, one evening, in
the room that had been devoted to the reception of
the wedding presents. This room had been Aunt Maria's
pride and joy, and already it had assumed quite the
appearance of a bazar, for the family connections of
the Van Arsdels was large, and numbered many among
the richer classes. Arthur's uncle, Dr. Gracey, and the
family connections through him were also people in
prosperous worldly circumstances, and remarkably well
pleased with the marriage; and so there had been a great
abundance of valuable gifts. The door-bell for the last
week or two had been ringing incessantly, and Aunt
Maria had eagerly seized the parcels from the servant
and borne them to the depository, and fixed their stations
with the cards of the givers conspicuously displayed.
Of course the reader knows that there were the usual
amount of berry-spoons, and pie-knives, and crumbscrapers;
of tea-spoons and coffee-spoons; of silver teaservices;
of bracelets and chains and studs and brooches
and shawl-pins and cashmere shawls and laces. Nobody
could deny that everything was arranged so as to make
the very most of it.
Angie was showing the things to St. John, in one of
those interminable interviews in which engaged people
find so much to tell each other.
“Really, Arthur,” she said, “it is almost too much.
Everybody is giving to me, just at a time when I am so
happy that I need it less than ever I did in my life.
I can't help feeling as if it was more than my share.”
Of course Arthur did n't think so; he was in that
mood that he could n't think anything on land or sea was
too much to be given to Angie.
“And look here,” she said, pointing him to a stand
which displayed a show of needle-books and pincushions,
and small matters of that kind, “just look here—even
the little girls of my sewing-class must give me something.
That needle-book, little Lottie Price made. Where
she got the silk I do n't know, but it's quite touching.
See how nicely she's done it! It makes me almost cry
to have poor people want to make me presents.”
“Why should we deny them that pleasure—the greatest
and purest in the world?” said St. John. “It is more
blessed to give than to receive.”
“Well, then, Arthur, I'll tell you what I was thinking
of. I would n't dare tell it to anybody else, for they'd
think perhaps I was making believe to be better than I
was; but I was thinking it would make my wedding
brighter to give gifts to poor, desolate people who really
need them than to have all this heaped upon me.”
Then Arthur told her how, in some distant ages of
faith and simplicity, Christian weddings were always
celebrated by gifts to the poor.
“Now, for example,” said Angie, “that poor, little,
pale dress-maker that Aunt Maria found for me,—she has
worked day and night over my things, and I can't help
wanting to do something to brighten her up. She has
nothing but hard work and no holidays; no lover to
come and give her pretty things, and take her to Europe;
and then she has a sick mother to take care of—only
think. Now, she told me, one day, she was trying to
save enough to get a sewing-machine.”
“Very well,” said Arthur, “if you want to give her
one, we'll go and look one out to-morrow and send it to
her, with a card for the ceremony, so there will be one
glad heart.”
“Arthur, you—”
But what Angie said to Arthur, and how she rewarded
him, belongs to the literature of Eden—it cannot be
exactly translated.
Then they conferred about different poor families,
whose wants and troubles and sorrows were known to
those two, and a wedding gift was devised to be sent to
each of them; and there are people who may believe
that the devising and executing of these last deeds of
love gave Angie and St. John more pleasure than all the
silver and jewelry in the wedding bazar.
“I have reserved a place for our Sunday-school to
be present at the ceremony,” said Arthur; “and there is
to be a nice little collation laid for them in my study;
and we must go in there a few minutes after the ceremony,
and show ourselves to them, and bid them good-by
before we go to your mother's.”
“Arthur, that is exactly what I was thinking of. I
believe we think the same things always. Now, I want
to say another thing. You wanted to know what piece
of jewelry you should get for my wedding present.”
“Well, darling?”
“Well, I have told Aunt Maria and mamma and all
of them that your wedding gift to me was something I
meant to keep to myself; that I would not have it put
on the table, or shown, or talked about. I did this, in the
first place, as a matter of taste. It seems to me that a marriage
gift ought to be something sacred between us two.”
“Like the white stone with the new name that no
man knoweth save him that receiveth it,” said St. John.
“Yes; just like that. Well, then, Arthur, get me only
a plain locket with your hair in it, and give all the rest
of the money to these uses we talked about, and I
will count it my present. It will be a pledge to me that
I shall not be a hindrance to you in your work, but
a help; that you will do more and not less good for
having me for your wife.”
What was said in reply to this was again in the super-angelic
dialect, and untranslatable; but these two children
of the kingdom understood it gladly, for they were,
in all the higher and nobler impulses, of one heart and
one soul.
“As to the ceremony, Arthur,” said Angie, “you
know how very loving and kind your uncle has been to
us. He has been like a real father; and since he is to
perform it, I hope there will be nothing introduced that
would be embarrassing to him or make unnecessary talk
and comment. Just the plain, usual service of the
Prayer-book will be enough, will it not?”
“Just as you say, my darling; this, undoubtedly, is
your province.”
“I think,” said Angie, “that there are many things
in themselves beautiful and symbolic, and that might be
full of interest to natures like yours and mine, that had
better be left alone if they offend the prejudices of
others, especially of dear and honored friends.”
“I do n't know but you are right, Angie; at any rate,
our wedding, so far as that is concerned, shall have nothing
in it to give offense to any one.”
“Sometimes I think,” said Angie, “we please God
by giving up, for love's sake, little things we would
like to do in his service, more than by worship.”
“Well, dear, that principle has a long reach. We
will talk more about it by and by; but now, good-night!—or
your mother will be scolding you again for
sitting up late. Somehow, the time does slip away so
when we get to talking.”
