CHAPTER VII.
THE COMING OF THE BRIDE
Early in the June morning Mary awoke, feeling as if it were Christmas orFourth of July or some great gala occasion. She lay there a moment,trying to think what pleasant thing was about to happen. Then sheremembered that it was the day on which the bride was to arrive. Notonly that,--before the sun went down, the best man would be at TheLocusts also.
She raised herself on her elbow to look at Joyce, in the white bedacross from hers. She was sound asleep, so Mary snuggled down on herpillow again, and lay quite still. If Joyce had been awake, Mary wouldhave begun a long conversation about Phil Tremont. Instead, she beganrecalling to herself the last time she had seen him. It was three yearsago, down by the beehives, and she had had no idea he was going awayuntil he came to the Wigwam to bid them all good-by. And Joyce and Lloydwere away, so he had left a message for them with her. She thought itqueer then, and she had wondered many times since why his farewell tothe girls should have been a message about the old gambling god, Alaka.She remembered every word of it, even the tones of his voice as he said:"Try to remember just these words, please, Mary. Tell them that '_Alakahas lost his precious turquoises, but he will win them back again someday_.' Can you remember to say just that?"
He must have thought she wasn't much more than a baby to repeat it socarefully to her several times, as if he were teaching her a lesson.Well, to be sure, she was only eleven then, and she had almost criedwhen she begged him not to go away, and insisted on knowing when he wascoming back. He had looked away toward old Camelback Mountain with astrange, sorry look on his face as he answered:
"Not till I've learned your lesson--to be 'inflexible.' When I'm strongenough to keep stiff in the face of any temptation, then I'll come back,little Vicar." Then he had stooped and kissed her hastily on bothcheeks, and started off down the road, with her watching him through ablur of tears, because it seemed that all the good times in the worldhad suddenly come to an end. Away down the road he had turned to lookback and wave his hat, and she had caught up her white sunbonnet andswung it high by its one limp string.
Afterward, when she went back to the swing by the beehives, she recalledall the old stories she had ever heard of knights who went out into theworld to seek their fortunes, and waved farewell to some ladye fair inher watch-tower. She felt, in a vague way, that she had been biddenfarewell by a brave knight errant. Although she was burning withcuriosity when she delivered the message about the turquoises and Alaka,and wondered why Lloyd and Joyce exchanged such meaning glances,something kept her from asking questions, and she had gone on wonderingall these years what it meant, and why there was such a sorry look inhis eyes when he gazed out toward the old Camelback Mountain. Now, inthe wisdom of her fourteen years, she began to suspect what the troublehad been, and resolved to ask Joyce for the solution of the mystery.
Now that Phil was twenty years old and doing a man's work in the world,she supposed she ought to call him Mr. Tremont, or, at least, Mr. Phil.Probably in his travels, with all the important things that a civilengineer has to think of, he had forgotten her and the way he had rompedwith her at the Wigwam, and how he had saved her life the time theIndian chased her. Being the bridegroom's brother and best man at thewedding, he would scarcely notice her. Or, if he did cast a glance inher direction, she had grown so much probably he never would recognizeher. Still, if he _should_ remember her, she wanted to appear at herbest advantage, and she began considering what was the best her wardrobeafforded.
She lay there some time trying to decide whether she should be all inwhite when she met him, or in the dress with the little sprigs offorget-me-nots sprinkled over it. White was appropriate for alloccasions, still the forget-me-nots would be suggestive. Then sheremembered her mother's remark about that shade of blue being a tryingone for her to wear. That recalled Mom Beck's prescription forbeautifying the complexion. Nothing, so the old colored woman declared,was so good for one's face as washing it in dew before the sun hadtouched the grass, at the same time repeating a hoodoo rhyme. Mary hadbeen intending to try it, but never could waken early enough.
Now it was only a little after five. Slipping out of bed, she drewaside the curtain. Smoke was rising from the chimney down in theservants' quarters, and the sun was streaming red across the lawn. Butover by the side of the house, in the shadow of Hero's monument, the dewlay sparkling like diamonds on the daisies and clover that bloomedthere--the only place on the lawn where the sun had not yet touched.
Thrusting her bare feet into the little red Turkish slippers beside herbed, Mary caught up her kimono lying over a chair. It was a long,Oriental affair, Cousin Kate's Christmas gift; a mixture of gay colorsand a pattern of Japanese fans, and so beautiful in Mary's eyes that shehad often bemoaned the fact that she was not a Japanese lady so that shecould wear the gorgeous garment in public. It seemed too beautiful to bewasted on the privacy of her room.
Fastening it together with three of Joyce's little gold pins, she stoledown the stairway. Mom Beck was busy in the dining-room, and the doorsand windows stood open. Stepping out of one of the long French windowsthat opened on the side porch, Mary ran across to the monument. It was aglorious June morning. The myriads of roses were doubly sweet with thedew in their hearts. A Kentucky cardinal flashed across the lawn aheadof her, darting from one locust-tree to another like a bit of liveflame.
The little red Turkish slippers chased lightly over the grass till theyreached the shadow of the monument. Then stooping, Mary passed her handsover the daisies and clover, catching up the dewdrops in her pink palms,and rubbing them over her face as she repeated Mom Beck's charm:
"Beauty come, freckles go! Dewdops, make me white as snow!"
The dew on her face felt so cool and fresh that she tried it again, thenseveral times more. Then she stooped over farther and buried her face inthe wet grass, repeating the rhyme again with her eyes shut and in thesingsong chant in which she often intoned things, without giving heed towhat she was uttering. Suddenly, in the midst of this joyful abandon, anamused exclamation made her lift her head a little and open her eyes.
"By all the powers! What are you up to now, Miss Stork?"
Mary's head came up out of the wet grass with a jerk. Then her faceburned an embarrassed crimson, for striding along the path toward herwas Bob Moore, cutting across lots from Oaklea. He was bareheaded, andswinging along as if it were a pleasure merely to be alive on such amorning.
She sprang to her feet, so mortified at being caught in this secretquest for beauty that her embarrassment left her speechless. Then,remembering the way she was dressed, she sank down on the grass again,and pulled her kimono as far as possible over the little bare feet inthe red slippers.
There was no need for her to answer his question. The rhyme she had beenchanting was sufficient explanation.
"I thought you said," he began, teasingly, "that you were to have _your_innings when you were a grandmother; that you didn't care for beauty nowif you could have a face like a benediction then."
"Oh, I didn't say that I didn't care!" cried Mary, crouching closeragainst the monument, and putting her arm across her face to hide it."It's because I care so much that I'm always doing silly things andgetting caught. I just wish the earth could open and swallow me!" shewailed.
Her head was bowed now till it was resting on her knees. Rob looked downon the little bunch of misery in the gay kimono, thinking he had neverseen such a picture of woe. He could not help smiling, but he felt meanat having been the cause of her distress, and tried to think ofsomething comforting to say.
"Sakes alive, child! That's nothing to feel bad about. Bathing your facein May-day dew is an old English custom that the prettiest girls in theKingdom used to follow. I ought to apologize for intruding, but I didn'tsuppose any one was up. I just came over to say that some business forgrandfather will take me to town on the earliest train, so that I can'tbe on hand when the best man arrives. I didn't want to wake up theentire household by tele
phoning, so I thought I'd step over and leave amessage with Alec or some of them. If you'll tell Lloyd, I'll be muchobliged."
"All right, I'll tell her," answered Mary, in muffled tones, withoutraising her head from her knees. She was battling back the tears, andfelt that she could never face the world again. She waited till she wassure Rob was out of sight, and then, springing up, ran for the shelterof her room. As she stole up the stairs, her eyes were so blinded withtears that she could hardly see the steps; tears of humiliation, thatRob, of all people, whose good opinion she valued, should havediscovered her in a situation that made her appear silly and vain.
Luckily for the child's peace of mind, Betty had also wakened early thatmorning, and was taking advantage of the quiet hours before breakfast toattend to her letter-writing. Through her open door she caught sight ofthe woebegone little figure slipping past, and the next instant Maryfound herself in the white and gold room with Betty's arm around her,and her tearful face pressed against a sympathetic shoulder. Little bylittle Betty coaxed from her the cause of her tears, then sat silent,patting her hand, as she wondered what she could say to console her.
To the older girl it seemed a matter to smile over, and the corners ofher mouth did dimple a little, until she realized that to Mary'ssupersensitive nature this was no trifle, and that she was sufferingkeenly from it.
"Oh, I'm so ashamed," sobbed Mary. "I never want to look Mister Rob inthe face again. I'd rather go home and miss the wedding than meet himany more."
"Nonsense," said Betty, lightly. "Now you're making a mountain out of amole-hill. Probably Rob will never give the matter a second thought,and he would be amazed if he thought you did. I've heard you say youwished you could be just like Lloyd. Do you know, her greatest charm tome is that she never seems to think of the impression she is making onother people. Now, if she should decide that her complexion would bebetter for a wash in the dew, she would go ahead and wash it, no matterwho caught her at it, and, first thing you know, all the Valley would befollowing her example.
"I'm going to preach you a little sermon now, because I've found outyour one fault. It isn't very big yet, but, if you don't nip it in thebud, it will be like Meddlesome Matty's,--
"'Which, like a cloud before the skies, Hid all her better qualities.'
"You are self-conscious, Mary. Always thinking about the impression youare making on people, and so eager to please that it makes you miserableif you think you fall short of any of their standards. I knew a girl atschool who let her sensitiveness to other people's opinions run awaywith her. She was so anxious for her friends to be pleased with her thatshe couldn't be natural. If anybody glanced in the direction of herhead, she immediately began to fix her side-combs, or if they seemed tobe noticing her dress, she felt her belt and looked down at herself tosee if anything was wrong. Half the time they were not looking at her atall, and not even giving her a thought. And I've known her to agonizefor days over some trifle, some remark she had made or some one had madeto her, that every one but her had forgotten. She developed into adreadful bore, because she never could forget herself, and was alwayslooking at her affairs through a magnifying-glass.
"Now if you should keep out of Rob's way after this, and act as if youhad done something to be ashamed of, which you have not, don't you seethat your very actions would remind him of what you want him to forget?But if when you meet him you are your own bright, cheerful, friendlylittle self, this morning's scene will fade into a dim background."
Only half-convinced, Mary nodded that she understood, but stillproceeded to wipe her eyes at intervals.
"Then, there's another thing," continued Betty. "If you sit and broodover your mortification, it will spread all over your sky like a blackcloud, till it will seem bigger than any of the good times you havehad. In the dear old garden at Warwick Hall there is a sun-dial that hasthis inscription on it, 'I only mark the hours that shine,' So I amgoing to give you that as a text. Now, dear, that is the end of mysermon, but here is the application."
She pointed to a row of little white books on the shelf above her desk,all bound in kid, with her initials stamped on the back in gold. "Thoseare my good-times books. 'I only mark the hours that shine' in them, andwhen things go wrong and I get discouraged over my mistakes, I glancethrough them and find that there's lots more to laugh over than cryabout, and I'm going to recommend the same course to you. Godmother gaveme the first volume when I came to the first house-party, and the littlerecord gave me so much pleasure that I've gone on adding volume aftervolume. Suppose you try it, dear. Will you, if I give you a book?"
"Yes," answered Mary, who had heard of these books before, and longedfor a peep into them. She had her wish now, for, taking them down fromthe shelf, Betty read an extract here and there, to illustrate what shemeant. Presently, to their astonishment, they heard Mom Beck knocking atLloyd's door to awaken her, and Betty realized with a start that shehad been reading over an hour. Her letters were unanswered, but she hadaccomplished something better. Mary's tears had dried, as she listenedto these accounts of their frolics at boarding-school and theiradventures abroad, and in her interest in them her own affairs had takentheir proper proportion. She was no longer heart-broken over having beendiscovered by Rob, and she was determined to overcome the sensitivenessand self-consciousness which Betty had pointed out as her great fault.
As she rose to go, Betty opened a drawer in her desk and took out asquare, fat diary, bound in red morocco. "One of the girls gave me thislast Christmas," she said. "I never have used it, because I want to keepmy journals uniform in size and binding, and I'll be so glad to have youtake it and start a record of your own, if you will."
"Oh, I'll begin this very morning!" cried Mary, in delight, throwing herarms around Betty's neck with an impulsive kiss, and trying to expressher thanks.
"Then wait till I write my text in it," said Betty, "so that it willalways recall my sermon. I've talked to you as if I were yourgrandmother, haven't I?"
"You've made me feel a lot more comfortable," answered Mary, humbly,with another kiss as Betty handed her the book. On the fly-leaf she hadwritten her own name and Mary's and the inscription borne by the oldsun-dial in Warwick Hall garden:
"_I only mark the hours that shine._"
It was after lunch before Mary found a moment in which to begin herrecord, and then it was in unconscious imitation of Betty's style thatshe wrote the events of the morning. Probably she would not have goneinto details and copied whole conversations if she had not heard theextracts from Betty's diaries. Betty was writing for practice as well aswith the purpose of storing away pleasant memories, so it was often withthe spirit of the novelist that she made her entries.
"It seems hopeless to go back to the beginning," wrote Mary, "and tellall that has happened so far, so I shall begin with this morning. Soonafter breakfast we went to Rollington in the carriage, Joyce and Bettyand I on the back seat, and Lloyd in front with the coachman. And Mrs.Crisp cut down nearly a whole bushful of bridal wreath to decorateEugenia's room with. When we got back May Lily had just finished puttingup fresh curtains in the room, almost as fine and thin as frost-work.The furniture is all white, and the walls a soft, cool green, and therugs like that dark velvety moss that grows in the deepest woods. Whenwe had finished filling the vases and jardinieres, the room itself allsnowy white and green made you think of a bush of bridal wreath.
"We were barely through with that when it was time for Lloyd and AuntElizabeth to go to the station to meet Eugenia. There wasn't room forthe rest of us in the carriage, so Betty and Joyce and I hung out of thewindows and watched for them, and Betty and Joyce talked about the othertime Eugenia came, when they walked up and down under the locustswaiting for her and wondering what she would be like. When she did come,they were half-afraid of her, she was so stylish and young-ladified, andordered her maid about in such a superior way.
"Betty said it was curious how snippy girls of that age can besometimes, and then turn out to
be such fine women afterward, when theyoutgrow their snippiness and snobbishness. Then she told us a lot we hadnever heard about the school Eugenia went to in Germany to take atraining in housekeeping, and so many interesting things about her thatI was all in a quiver of curiosity to see her.
"When we heard the carriage coming, Betty and Joyce tore down-stairs tomeet her, but I just hung farther out of the window. And, oh, but shewas pretty and stylish and tall--and just as Betty had said,_patrician_-looking, with her dusky hair and big dark eyes. She is theSpanish type of beauty. She swept into the house so grandly, with hermaid following with her satchels (the same old Eliot who was herebefore), that I thought for a moment maybe she was as stuck-up as ever.But when she saw her old room, she acted just like a happy little girl,ready to cry and laugh in the same breath because everything had beenmade so beautiful for her coming. While she was still in the midst ofadmiring everything, she sat right down on the bed and tore off hergloves, so that she could open the queer-looking parcel she carried. Ihad thought maybe it was something too valuable to put in the satchels,but it was only a new kind of egg-beater she had seen in a show-windowon her way from one depot to another. You would have thought from theway she carried on that she had found a wonderful treasure. And in themidst of showing us that she exclaimed:
"'Oh, girls, what do you think? I met the dearest old lady on thesleeper, and she gave me a receipt for a new kind of salad. That makesten kinds of salad that I know how to make. Oh, I just can't wait totell you about our little love of a house! It's all furnished andwaiting for us. Papa and I were out to look all over it the day Istarted, and everything was in place but the refrigerator, and Stuarthad already ordered one sent out.'
"Then Lloyd opened the closet door and called her attention to the greatpile of packages waiting to be opened. She flew at them and called usall to help, and for a little while Mom Beck and Eliot were kept busypicking up strings and wrapping-paper and cotton and excelsior. When wewere through, the bed and the chairs and mantel and two extra tablesthat had been brought in were piled with the most beautiful things Iever saw. I never dreamed there were such lovely things in the world assome of the beaten silver and hand-painted china and Tiffany glass.There was a jewelled fan, and all sorts of things in gold andmother-of-pearl, and there was some point lace that she said was moresuitable for a queen than a young American girl. Her father has so manywealthy friends, and they all sent presents.
"Opening the bundles was so much fun,--like a continual surprise-party,Betty said, or a hundred Christmases rolled into one. Between times whenEugenia wasn't exclaiming over how lovely everything was, she wastelling us how the house was furnished, and what a splendid fellowStuart is, and how wild she is for us to know him. I had never heard abride talk before, and she was so _happy_ that somehow it made you feelthat getting married was the most beautiful thing in the world.
"One of the first things she did when she opened her suit-case was totake out a picture of Stuart. It was a miniature on ivory in a locket ofVenetian gold, because it was in Venice he had proposed to her. Aftershe had shown it to us, she put it in the centre of her dressing-table,with the white flowers all around it, as if it had been some sort ofshrine. There was a look in her eyes that made me think of the picturein Betty's room of a nun laying lilies on an altar.
"It is after luncheon now, and she has gone to her room to rest awhile.So have the other girls. But I couldn't sleep. The days are slipping bytoo fast for me to waste any time that way."
The house was quiet when Mary closed her journal. Joyce was still asleepon the bed, and through the open door she could see Betty, tilted backin a big chair, nodding over a magazine. She concluded it would be agood time to dash off a letter to Holland, but with a foresight whichprompted her to be ready for any occasion, she decided to dress firstfor the evening. Tiptoeing around the room, she brushed her hair in thenew way Mom Beck had taught her, and, taking out her prettiest whitedress, proceeded to array herself in honor of the best man's coming.Then she rummaged in the tray of her trunk till she found her pink coralnecklace and fan-chain, and, with a sigh of satisfaction that she wasready for any emergency, seated herself at her letter-writing.
She had written only a page, however, when the clock on the stairschimed four. The deep tones echoing through the hall sent Lloyd bouncingup from her couch, her hair falling over her shoulders and her longkimono tripping her at every step, as she ran into Joyce's room.
"What are we going to do?" she cried in dismay. "I ovahslept myself, andnow it's foah o'clock, and Phil's train due in nine minutes. Thecarriage is at the doah and none of us dressed to go to meet him. Iwrote that the entiah bridal party would be there."
Joyce sprang up in a dazed sort of way, and began putting on herslippers. The bridesmaids had talked so much about the grand welcome thebest man was to receive on his entrance to the Valley that, half-awakeas she was, she could not realize that it was too late to carry outtheir plans.
"Oh, it's no use trying to get ready now," said Lloyd, in a disappointedtone. "We couldn't dress and get to the station in time to save ou'lives." Then her glance fell on Mary, sitting at her desk in all herbrave array of pink ribbons and corals.
"Why, Mary can go!" she cried, in a relieved tone. "I had forgotten thatshe knows Phil as well as we do. Run on, that's a deah! Don't stop for ahat! You won't need it in the carriage. Tell him that you're the maid ofhonah on this occasion!"
It was all over so quickly, the rapid drive down the avenue, the quickdash up to the station as the train came puffing past, that Mary hadlittle time to rehearse the part she had been bidden to play. She was soafraid that Phil would not recognize her that she wondered if she oughtnot to begin by introducing herself. She pictured the scene in her mindas they rolled along, unconscious that she was smiling and bowing intoempty air, as she rehearsed the speech with which she intended toimpress him. She would be as dignified and gracious as the Princessherself; not at all like the hoydenish child of eleven who had waved hersunbonnet at him in parting three years before.
The sight of the train as it slowed up sent a queer inward quiver ofexpectancy through her, and her cheeks were flushed with eagerness asshe leaned forward watching for him. With a nervous gesture, she put herhand up to her hair-ribbons to make sure that her bows were in place,and then clutched the coral necklace. Then Betty's sermon flashed acrossher mind, and the thought that she had done just like the self-consciousgirl at school brought a distressed pucker between her eyebrows. But thenext instant she forgot all about it. She forgot the princess-like wayin which she was to step from the carriage, the dignity with which shewas to offer Phil her hand, and the words wherewith she was to welcomehim. She had caught sight of a wide-brimmed gray hat over the heads ofthe crowd, and a face, bronzed and handsome, almost as dear in itsfamiliar outlines as Jack's or Holland's. Her carefully rehearsedactions flew to the winds, as, regardless of the strangers all about,she sprang from the carriage and ran along bareheaded in the sun. AndPhil, glancing around him for the bridal party that was to meet him, wassurprised beyond measure when this little apparition from the ArizonaWigwam caught him by the hand.
"Bless my soul, it's the little Vicar!" he exclaimed. "Why, it's likegetting back home to see _you_! And how you've grown, and how reallycivilized you are!"
So he _had_ remembered her. He was glad to see her. With her faceglowing and her feet fairly dancing, she led him to the carriage,pouring out a flood of information as they went, about The Locusts andthe wedding and the people they passed, and how lovely everything was inthe Valley, till he said, with a twinkle in his eyes: "You're the sameenthusiastic little soul that you used to be, aren't you? I hope you'llspeak as good a word for me at The Locusts as you did at Lee's ranch. Iam taking it as a good omen that you were sent to conduct me into thishappy land. You made a success of it that other time; somehow I'm sureyou will this time."
All the way to the house Mary sat and beamed on him as she talked,thinking how much older he looked, and yet how frie
ndly and brotherly hestill was. She introduced him to Mrs. Sherman with a proud,grandmotherly air of proprietorship, and took a personal pride in everycomplimentary thing said about him afterward, as if she were responsiblefor his good behavior, and was pleased with the way he was "showingoff."
Rob came over as usual in the evening. Phil was not there at first. Heand Eugenia were strolling about the grounds. Mary, sitting in a hammockon the porch, was impatient for them to come in, for she wanted to seewhat impression he would make on Rob, whom she had been thinking latelywas the nicest man she ever met. She wanted to see them together tocontrast the two, for they seemed wonderfully alike in size and generalappearance. In actions, too, Mary thought, remembering how they both hadteased her.
She had not seen Rob since their unhappy encounter early that morning,when she had been so overcome with mortification; and if Betty had notbeen on the porch also, she would have found it hard to stay and facehim. But she wanted to show Betty that she had taken her little sermonto heart. Then, besides, the affair did not look so big, after all thathad happened during this exciting day.
As they waited, Joyce joined them, and presently they heard Lloyd comingthrough the hall. She was singing a verse from Ingelow's "Songs ofSeven:"
"'There is no dew left on the daisies and clover. There is no rain left in the heaven. I've said my seven times over and over-- Seven times one are seven.'"
Then she began again, "'There is no dew left on the daisies andclover--'" Rob turned to Mary. "I wonder why," he said, meaningly.
The red flashed up into Mary's face and she made no audible answer, butJoyce, turning suddenly, saw to her horror that Mary had made a saucyface at him and thrust out her tongue like a naughty child.
"Why, Mary Ware!" she began, in a shocked tone, but Betty interruptedwith a laugh. "Let her alone, Joyce; he richly deserved it. He wasteasing her."
"Betty was right," thought Mary afterward. "It _was_ better to make funof his teasing than to run off and cry because he happened to mentionthe subject. If I had done that, he never would have said to Bettyafterward that I was the jolliest little thing that ever came over thepike. How much better this day has ended than it began."