University of Virginia Library

6. VI.
THE WEDDING DAY, AND WHAT FOLLOWED.

The marriage ceremony was to take place at nine
o'clock, without display; only the clergyman and two
other witnesses were to be present, and the happy pair
were to take the cars at ten for a little journey. Two
bridesmaids came in the rain, at eight o'clock, to dress the
bride. She had already put upon the children their neatest
attire, charging them to remain in the house, and keep
themselves dry and clean. The arrival of the clergyman
was prompt. Nine o'clock struck, — a knell to Archy's
heart. At the fatal moment he appeared; he was handsomely
dressed; he was pale, but firm. No martyr ever
approached the stake with greater fortitude than he displayed
on standing up beside Priscilla, in the little parlor,
with the clergyman facing them and the witnesses waiting.

At this critical moment, Cyrus, who had gone to secure
a conveyance for the wedding party, rushed into the room.

“You, sir,” said the clergyman, addressing Archy, “solemnly
promise to take this woman —”

“Guess you better wait half a jiffy!” cried Cyrus, flirting
his wet cap.

“To be your lawful wife,” added the clergyman.

“Somebody else to come,” added Cyrus; “he 's 'most
here; I run ahead to tell ye to stop.”

“Hush, Cyrus!” whispered the bride.

“To love, honor, and obey,” said the clergyman, growing
confused, “until death do you part —”

“He 'd jest come in on the cars,” interpolated Cyrus.

“Promise,” said the clergyman to Archy, who stood
staring.

“To obey?” faltered Archy.

“Did I say obey? No matter; it 's a mere form —”

“I guess he 's from Caleforny!” cried Cyrus; “mebby
's he 's got news.”

“From California!” uttered Archy, with a gleam of
hope. “Wait; what does the fellow mean? Who — where
is this man?”

“I d'n' know; I never saw him afore; but here he
comes!” said Cyrus. The rascal grinned. Priscilla looked
wild and distressed. Archy believed it was one of Cyrus's
miserable jokes, but resolved to make the most of it.

“Shall I proceed?” inquired the clergyman, who had
quite forgotten where he left off. The gate had previously
clanged; doors had been opened; and now, to the astonishment
of all, a stranger put his head into the room.
He wore a Spanish sombrero, a shaggy coat, and an immense
red beard. As all turned to look at him, he advanced
into the room.

“Stranger!” cried the excited Archy, “who — how —
why this interruption?”

“What is going on?” asked the Californian, in a suppressed
voice.

“Nothing — only — getting married a little,” replied
Archy, excited more and more. “You are welcome, sir,
welcome! but if you have no business —”

“I have business!” The intruder removed his wet
sombrero. “Priscilla! Archibald!”

“Benjamin!” ejaculated Archy, springing forward upon
the clergyman's corns.

“My husband!” burst from the lips of the bride; and
she threw up her arms, swooning in the traveller's damp
embrace. Archy, quite beside himself, ran over the children,
and flung his arms frantically about the reunited
pair.

“I be darned,” said Cyrus, flinging his cap into the
corner, “if 't a'n't Ben Blossom come to life again!”

“Just stand off,” cried Benjamin, sternly, “till we have
this matter a little better understood.”

“I don't object,” replied Archy, brushing himself, “for,
really, and upon my soul, you are very wet!”

Priscilla was restored to consciousness (which, if the
truth must be confessed, she had not lost at all), explanations
were made, and the husband's ire appeased. He,
on his part, maintained that he had not been dead at all;
that the treacherous friend who reported him so had indeed
deserted him when he was in an extremely feeble
condition at the mines, leaving him to perish alone, of
sickness and want, in the dismal rainy season; that he
(Mr. Blossom) had lived, so to speak, out of spite, finding
shelter in a squatter's hut, digging a little for gold, returning
to the seaboard, crossing the Isthmus, and finally
reaching home (with less than half the money he had carried
away) sooner than any letter, mailed at the earliest
opportunity, could have arrived. He seemed rejoiced to
get back again; kissed the children; shook hands with
the neighbors; and, finally, supporting his wife upon one
arm, while he gave Archy a fraternal embrace with the
other, frankly forgave them the little matrimonial proceeding
we have described.

The truth is, Priscilla had expressed her joy at his return
with a spontaneity and emphasis which left no doubt
of her sincerity. Archy felt one pang of jealousy at this;
but it was evident enough that his satisfaction at seeing
Benjamin was unfeigned.

“We are brother and sister again now, Archy?” said
Priscilla, offering him her hand.

“We are nothing else, I am happy to say!” replied
Archy, overflowing with good humor.

“I must beg your pardon, Archy,” said Ben, “for taking
away your bride.”

“Really, and upon my soul,” cried Archy, magnanimously,
“I relinquish her — under the circumstances —
with joy! Take back your family, Ben! Here are the
children, good as new. I give 'em up without a murmur.
Heaven forbid that I should wish to rob my brother of
his treasures!” Archy's self-denial was beautiful.

“S'pos'n' — s'pos'n',” giggled Cyrus, “he had n't come
till to-morrer, an' found there 'd been a weddin'! an' nobody
but me an' the children left to hum!”

This ill-timed speech proved very unpopular, and Cyrus
was hustled out of the room. The wedding having failed
to take place, there was no wedding tour.

Archy remained, and made a visit at his brother's; experiencing
unaccountable sensations upon witnessing the
unbounded happiness of Priscilla. How she could so easily
give up a well-dressed gentleman like himself (after all
her professions, too!) and show such preference for a
rough, bearded, unkempt, half-savage Californian, puzzled
his philosophy. The sight became unendurable. So that
afternoon he packed up his luggage and took leave of the
happy family, turning a deaf ear to all their entreaties,
and setting out, under painful circumstances and a dilapidated
umbrella, to walk to the cars. Cyrus accompanied
him, transporting his trunks upon the celebrated wheelbarrow.
At the station Mr. Drole brought Archy the
checks for his baggage, and gave him his good-by, together
with a little tribute of sympathy.

“I swanny,” said Cyrus, “'t was too bad anyhow you
can fix it! But I would n't give up so; mebby you 'll
have better luck next time.”

“Always a victim!” muttered Archy, taking his seat in
the cars. Cyrus got upon his wheelbarrow, and whistled

“Try, try again!” playing an imaginary fiddle over his
arm. The bachelor (still a bachelor) thanked Heaven
when the cars started, and so returned to his elegant
single lodgings in town.

But he was no longer the cheerful, contented bachelor
of other times. An affectionate letter from Mrs. Blossom,
in which she hoped he would find another widdow (with
two d's), and be hapy (with one p), served only to keep
alive the fires that had been kindled in his once cool
breast. He began to seek female society; grew studious
of fair faces; and, to the astonishment of his friends,
within a year both Priscilla's wish and Cyrus's prediction
touching better luck were realized. Archy had found another
widow; who, although perhaps not quite so charming
a creature as she who had first aroused him from
apathetic celibacy, proved, nevertheless, quite as sincere a
woman, as true a wife, and as devoted a mother of her
little Blossoms. They occupy a handsome little cottage a
few miles out of town; where the late bachelor, now the
blessed husband and father, finds wedded life so entirely
to his liking, that he often assures Mrs. Blossom that really,
and upon his soul, the most fortunate day of his life was
when she made him a victim.