54. CHAPTER LIV.
MARRIED AND A'.
WELL, the day of days came at last, and a fairer
May morning never brightened the spire of old
Trinity or woke the sparrows of the park. Even the
dingy back garden of the Vanderheyden house had bubbled
out in golden crocus and one or two struggling
hyacinths, and the old lilacs by the chamber windows
were putting forth their first dusky, sweet-scented buds.
In about half a dozen houses, everybody was up early,
with heads full of wedding dresses, and wedding fusses,
and wedding cake. Aunt Maria, like a sergeant of police,
was on hand, as wide awake and as fully possessed of
the case as it was possible for mortal woman to be.
She was everywhere,—seeing to everything, reproving,
rebuking, exhorting, and pushing matters into line generally.
This was her hour of glory, and she was mistress of
the situation. Mrs. Van Arsdel was sweet and loving,
bewildered and tearful; and wandered hither and thither
doing little bits of things and remorselessly snubbed by
her energetic sister, who, after pushing her out of the way
several times, finally issued the order: “Nellie, I do
wish you'd go to your room and keep quiet. I understand
what I want, and you do n't.”
The two brides, each in their respective dressing-rooms,
were receiving those attentions which belong to
the central figures of the tableau.
Marie, the only remaining unmarried sister, who had
been spending the winter in Philadelphia, had charge,
as dressing-maid, of one bride, and Eva of the other.
There was the usual amount of catastrophes—laces that
broke in critical moments, when somebody had to be
sent tearing out distractedly for another; gloves that
split across the back on trying; coiffures that came
abominably late, after keeping everybody waiting, and
then had to be pulled to pieces and made all over; in
short, no one item of the delightful jumble of confusions,
incident to a wedding, was missing.
The little chapel was dressed with flowers, and was
a bower of sweetness; and, as St. John had planned,
there was space reserved for the Sunday-school children
and the regular attendants of the mission.
Besides those, there was a goodly select show of what
Aunt Maria looked upon as the choice jewels of rank
and fashion.
Dr. Gracey performed the double ceremony with
great dignity and solemnity; but the reporters, who
fought for good places to see the show, and Miss Gusher
and Miss Vapors, were disappointed. There was only
the plain old Church of England service—neither less
nor more.
Mrs. Van Arsdel, and other soft-hearted ladies, in
different degrees of family connection, did the proper
amount of tender weeping upon their best laced pocket
handkerchiefs; and everybody said the brides looked so
lovely.
Miss Dorcas and Mrs. Betsey had excellent situations
to see the whole, and Dinah, standing right behind them,
broke out into ejaculations of smothered rapture, from
time to time, in Mrs. Betsey's ear. Dinah was so boiling
over with delight that, but for this tolerated escape-valve,
there might have been some explosion.
Just as the ceremonies had closed, Mrs. Betsey heard
Dinah whispering hoarsely:
“Good Lor'! if dar ain't Jack!”
And sure enough, Jack was there in the church, sitting
up as composedly as a vestryman, and apparently enjoying
the spectacle. When one of the ushers approached
to take him out, he raised himself on his haunches and
waved his paws with affability.
Jim caught sight of him just as the wedded party
were turning from the altar to leave the church, and the
sight was altogether too much for his risibility.
The fact was that Jack had been the subject of great
discussion and an elaborate locking up that morning.
But divining an intention on the part of his mistresses
to go somewhere, he had determined not to be left. So
he had leaped out of a window upon a back shed, and
thence to the ground, and had followed the coach at discreet
distance, and so was “in at the death.”
Well, courteous reader, a marriage is by common consent
the end of a story, and we have given you two.
“We and Our Neighbors,” therefore, are ready to receive
your congratulations.
THE END.
