A Daughter of the Rich

And now, on the wedding morning of the first of November, the great box that Chi had brought up from Barton's the night before was opened, and in Hazel's skilful fingers the exquisite pink blooms lent to the "long-room" a wonderful grace and beauty.

She was flitting about in her pale pink cashmere dress–"Made specially to match the roses," she said to March, as she dropped him a curtsy preparatory to pinning a rose into his buttonhole. "We must all wear Rose-pose's badge to-day. Where are you, Budd?"

"Here," said her knight, promptly appearing with Cherry from the pantry, where they had been counting the frosting-roses on the wedding-cake. He looked down at the slender fingers as they pulled the stem of the pink bud through the buttonhole of his jacket, and thought–of the ring! Then he looked up at the tall, beautiful girl bending over him, and, somehow, the day of his proposal seemed very far away in the Past. Hazel was so grown up!–as tall as Rose. Still, he was n't going to be afraid, if she was grown up. Now was his time;–and "Ethan Allan" always made the most of his opportunities. Budd was in United States History, this term, and he knew this for a fact.

He drew forth from his breeches' pocket a something that might once have been white, but, at present, looked more like a shoe-rag, it was so dingy and soiled.

"I 've kept it, you see, Hazel," he said, his small mouth puckering, his round, light-blue eyes growing rounder, as he looked up at Hazel, with twelve-year-old earnestness.

"Kept what?" said Hazel, mystified, and holding up the offering gingerly between thumb and forefinger to examine it.

"Why, don't you know?–the glove you gave me when you said you 'd be my Lady-love? don't you remember,–in the barn?" answered Budd, slightly crestfallen.

Hazel laughed merrily. "Oh, you funny boy!" she said, "to keep an old glove of mine for nearly a year and a half! Why, it's nearly black and blue. Have you kept it in your best Sunday-go-to-meeting trousers' pocket all this time?"

Budd nodded, but soberly. Seeing which, Hazel gave him a pat on the top of his head, and assured him she would give him one of her cleaned party gloves once a year till he was twenty-one, if only he would promise not to keep it in his pocket with spruce-gum, chalk, chestnuts, lead-pencil sharpenings, top-twine, jack-knives, and ginger cookie crumbs.

"How 'd you know I had all those things in my pocket?" demanded Budd, in his amazement forgetting his sentiment.

"Oh, a little bird told me," replied Hazel. "Run and ask Chi to come in, will you? I have his rose ready for him, and it's most time for them all to come."

It was a quiet wedding. Only those nearest and dearest were about them; Mr. Sherrill, Aunt Carrie and Uncle Jo, Mr. Clyde and Hazel, Doctor and Mrs. Heath, the Blossoms and Chi.

Afterwards all the Lost Nation came in to give their heart-felt blessings and good wishes. They were all there–from Maria-Ann, radiant in the realization of her own romance, to Miss Alton and the Fords, who were to leave on the night train to remain six weeks in New York, and had placed Hunger-ford at the disposal of Rose and Jack during the first weeks of their marriage. They remained but a little while, for the excitement was almost more than Jack was able to bear.

The moon rose between six and seven, largely luminous and slightly reddened through the soft, warm haze of the Indian Summer night. Rose had insisted, that, if the night were mild, Jack should ride over to Hunger-ford at a snail's pace on Little Shaver, and that she should lead him. At first Jack protested, but in the end Rose had her way. Chi, on Fleet, was to ride on a little ahead to be within call, if anything should be needed. "Kind of scoutin' to remind us of Cuby, Jack," he said, laughing, as he helped him into the saddle.

They were all on the porch to see the little cavalcade set forth, the pony whinnying his delight to find his master on his back. Rose took the bridle. Suddenly she dropped it, turned, and came back to the steps where Hazel stood between Mrs. Blossom and March. She put up her arms, and clasping the young girl about the waist, drew her down to kiss her, and whisper:

"Oh, Hazel! What if you had n't come to us!–All this happiness is through you."

And Hazel, but dimly perceiving Rose's meaning, whispered back as she kissed her:

"And if I had n't come, Rose-pose, I should never have been rich as I am now; Chi can't call me 'poor' any longer–for you 're all mine, now that you are Jack's; aren't you?"

March, hearing those whispered words, found his mother's hand, somehow,–and Mrs. Blossom understood.

"Good-night, Martie dear," cried Rose, love and tears and laughter struggling in her voice.

"Good-night, Rose dear."

"Good-night, Rose–Good-night, Jack!" cried the twins.

A white slipper filled with rice flew after Little Shaver, and hit him on the left hock. But he was a well-bred polo pony, and a white satin slipper with a little rice was as nothing to a swift, long-distance polo ball; so he gave no sign.

Chi stopped at the little house "over eastwards." Maria-Ann was on the lookout.

"They 're comin' along just by the turn of the road," he spoke low, "can you see 'em?"

The road lay white in the moonlight. "Yes, yes," cried Maria-Ann excitedly, "Oh, Chi, ain't it beautiful!"

"Sh–sh!" said Chi, "they 'll hear you. Hark! By George Washin'ton! she 's singin'–Get, Fleet." The horse loped along over the moonlit road, and Maria-Ann went in and shut the door–all but a crack. To that she put her ear, to hear what the clear, sweet voice was singing:

"'I told thee when love was hopeless;But now he is wild and sings–That the stars aboveShine ever on Love,Though they frown on the fate of kings.'"

Mount Hunger stood bathed in white radiance. The stars came out, but faintly;–still, they were shining.