Peter Part 53

The two swept past me into the old-fas.h.i.+oned parlor, now a bower of roses, where Jack and Peter and Felicia, with the elect, waited their coming, and I followed, halting at the doorway. From this point of vantage I peered in as best I could over and between the heads of the more fortunate, but I heard all that went on; the precise, sonorous voice of the bishop--(catch Miss Felicia having anybody but a bishop); the clear responses--especially Jack's--as if he had been waiting all his life to say those very words and insisted on being heard; the soft crush of satin as Ruth knelt; the rustle of her gown when she regained her feet; the measured words: "Whom G.o.d hath joined together, let no man put asunder"--and then the outbreak of joyous congratulations. As I looked in upon them all--old fellow as I am--listening to their joyous laughter; noting the wonderful toilettes, the festoons and ma.s.ses of flowers; watching Miss Felicia as she moved about the room (and never had I seen her more the "Grande Dame" than she was that day), welcoming her guests with a graciousness that must have opened some of their eyes--even fat, red-faced Arthur Breen, perspiring in pearl-colored gloves and a morning frock coat that fitted all sides of him except the front, and Mrs. Arthur in moire antique and diamonds, were enchanted; noting, too, Peter's perfectly appointed dress and courtly manners, he taking the whole responsibility of the occasion on his own shoulders--head of the house, really, for the time; receiving people at the door; bowing them out again; carrying gla.s.ses of punch--stopping to hobn.o.b with this or that old neighbor: "Ah, my dear Mrs. Townehalle, how young and well you look; and you tell me this is your daughter. I knew your mother, my dear, when she was your age, and she was the very prettiest girl in the county. And now let me present you to a most charming woman, Mrs. Foster, of New York, who--" etc., etc. Or greeting some old gray-head with: "Well, well--of coa.r.s.e it is--why, Judge, I haven't seen you since you left the bench which you graced so admirably," etc, etc.; watching, too, Ruth and Jack as they stood beneath a bower of arching roses--(Miss Felicia had put it together with her own hands)--receiving the congratulations and good wishes of those they knew and those they did not know; both trying to remember the names of strangers; both laughing over their mistakes, and both famished for just one kiss behind some door or curtain where n.o.body could see. As I looked on, I say, noting all these and a dozen other things, it was good to feel that there was yet another spot in this world of care where unbridled happiness held full sway and joy and gladness were contagious.

But it was in the tropical garden, with its frog pond, climbing roses in full bloom, water-lilies, honeysuckle, and other warm-weather shrubs and plants (not a single thing was a-bloom outside, even the chrysanthemums had been frost-bitten), that the greatest fun took place. That was a sight worth ten nights on the train to see.

Here the wedding breakfast was spread, the bride's table being placed outside that same arbor where Jack once tried so hard to tell Ruth he loved her (how often have they laughed over it since); a table with covers for seven, counting the two bridesmaids and the two gallants in puffy steel-gray scarfs and smooth steel-gray gloves. The other guests--the relations and intimate friends who had been invited to remain after the ceremony--were to find seats either at the big or little tables placed under the palms or beneath the trellises of jasmine, or upon the old porch overlooking the tropical garden.

It was Jack's voice that finally caught my attention. I could not see clearly on account of the leaves and tangled vines, but I could hear.

"But we want you, and you must."

"Oh, please, do," pleaded Ruth; there was no mistaking the music of her tones, or the southern accent that softened them.

"But what nonsense--an old duffer like me!" This was Peter's voice--no question about it.

"We won't any of us sit down if you don't," Jack was speaking now.

"And it will spoil everything," cried Ruth. "Jack and I planned it long ago; and we have brought you out a special chair; and see your card--see what it says: 'Dear Uncle Peter--'"

"Sit down with you young people at your wedding breakfast!" cried Peter, "and--" He didn't get any farther. Ruth had stopped what was to follow with a kiss. I know, for I craned my neck and caught the flash of the old fellow's bald head with the fair girl's cheek close to his own.

"Well, then--just as you want it--but there's the Major and Felicia and your father."

But they did not want any of these people, Ruth cried with a ringing laugh; didn't want any old people; they just wanted their dear Uncle Peter, and they were going to have him; a resolution which was put to vote and carried unanimously, the two pink bridesmaids and the two steel-gray gentlemen voting the loudest.

The merriment ceased when Ruth disappeared and came back in a dark-blue travelling dress and Jack in a brown suit. We were all in the doorway, our hands filled with rose petals--no worn-out slippers or hail of rice for this bride--when she tried to slip through in a dash for the carriage, but the dear lady caught and held her, clasping the girl to her heart, kissing her lips, her forehead, her hands--she could be very tender when she loved anybody; and she loved Ruth as her life; Peter and her father going ahead to hold open the door where they had their kisses and handshakes, their blessings, and their last words all to themselves.

The honeymoon slipped away as do all honeymoons, and one crisp, cool December day a lumbering country stage containing two pa.s.sengers struggled up a steep hill and stopped before a long, rambling building nearing completion. All about were piles of partly used lumber, broken bundles of s.h.i.+ngles, empty barrels, and abandoned mortar beds. Straight from the low slanting roof with its queer gables, rose a curl of blue smoke, telling of comfort and cheer within. Back of it towered huge trees, and away off in the distance swept a broad valley hazy in the morning light.

"Oh, Jack--what a love!" cried one pa.s.senger--she had alighted with a spring, her cheeks aglow with the bracing mountain air, and was standing taking it all in. "And, oh--see the porch!--and the darling windows and the dear little panes of gla.s.s! And, Jack--" she had reached the open door now, and was sweeping her eyes around the interior--"Oh!--oh!--what a fireplace!--and such ducky little shelves--and the flowers, and the table and the big easy chairs and rugs! ISN'T it lovely!!"

And then the two, hand in hand, stepped inside and shut the door.

THE END.