and I am young; but Wilford is in such a hurry; he don't care," Katy replied, trying to comfort Helen, and begging of her not to cry so hard.
No, Wilford did not care, as it would seem, how much he wrung the hearts of Katy's family by taking her from them at once, and by dictating to a certain extent the way in which he would take her. There must be no invited guests, he said; no lookers-on, except such as chose to go to the church where the ceremony would, of course, be performed, and from which place he should go directly to the Boston train. It was his wish, too, that the matter should be kept as quiet as possible, and not be generally discussed in the neighborhood, as he disliked being a subject for gossip. And Mrs. Lennox, to whom this was said, promised compliance with everything, or if she ventured to object she found herself borne down by a stronger will than her own, and weakly yielded, her manner fully testifying to her delight at the honor conferred upon her by this high marriage of her child. Wilford knew just how pleased she was, and her obsequious manner annoyed him far more than did Helen's blunt, straightforwardness, when, after supper was over, she told him how averse she was to his taking Katy so soon, adding still further that if it must be, she saw no harm in inviting a few of their neighbors. It was customary—it would be expected, she said, while Mrs. Lennox, emboldened by Helen's boldness, chimed in, "at least your folks will come; I shall be glad to meet your mother."
Wilford was very polite to them both; very good-humored, but he kept to his first position, and poor Mrs. Lennox saw fade into airy nothingness all her visions of roasted fowls and frosted cake trimmed with myrtle and flowers, with hosts of the Silverton people there to admire and partake of the marriage feast. It was too bad, and so Aunt Betty said, when, after Wilford had gone to Linwood, the family sat together around the kitchen stove, talking the matter over.
"Yes, it was too bad, when there was that white hen turkey she could fat up so easy before June, and she knew how to make 'lection cake that would melt in your mouth, and was enough sight better than the black stuff they called weddin' cake. Vum! she meant to try what she could do with Mr. Cameron."
And next morning when he came again she did try, holding out as inducements why he should be married the night before starting for Boston, the "white hen, turkey, the 'lection cake, and the gay old times the young folks would have playing snap-and-catchem; or if they had a mind, they could dance a bit in the kitchen. She didn't believe in it, to be sure—none of the orthodox did; but as Wilford was a 'Piscopal, and that was a 'Piscopal quirk, it wouldn't harm for once."
Wilford tried not to show his disgust, and only Helen suspected how hard it was for him to keep down his utter contempt. She saw it in his eyes, which resembled two smoldering volcanoes as they rested upon Aunt Betsy during her harangue.
"Thank you, madam, for your good intentions, but I think we will dispense with the turkey and the cake," was all he said, though he did smile at the old lady's definition of dancing, which for once she might allow.
Even Morris, when appealed to, decided with Wilford against Mrs. Lennox and Aunt Betsy, knowing how unequal he was to the task which would devolve on him in case of a bridal party at the farmhouse. In comparative silence he had heard from Wilford of his engagement, offering no objection when told how soon the marriage would take place, but congratulating him so quietly that, if Wilford had retained a feeling of jealousy, it would have disappeared; Morris was so seemingly indifferent to everything except Katy's happiness. But Wilford did not observe closely, and failed to detect the hopeless look in Morris' eyes, or the whiteness which settled about his mouth as he fulfilled the duties of host and sought to entertain his guest. Those were dark hours for Morris Grant, and he was glad when at the end of the second day Wilford's visit expired, and he saw him driven from Linwood around to the farmhouse, where he would say his parting words to Katy and then go back to New York.
CHAPTER VIII.
GETTING READY TO BE MARRIED.
"Miss Helen Lennox, Silverton, Mass."
This was the superscription of a letter, postmarked New York, and brought to Helen within a week after Wilford's departure. It was his handwriting, too; and wondering what he could have written to her, Helen broke the seal, starting as there dropped into her lap a check for five hundred dollars.
"What does it mean?" she said, her cheek flushing with anger and insulted pride as she read the following brief lines:
NEW YORK, May 8th.
> MISS HELEN LENNOX: Please pardon the liberty I take in inclosing the sum of five hundred dollars, to be used by you in procuring whatever Katy may need for present necessities. Presuming that the country seamstresses have not the best facilities for obtaining the latest fashions, my mother proposes sending out her own private dressmaker, Mrs. Ryan. You may look for her the last of the week.
Yours truly, WILFORD CAMERON.
It would be impossible to describe Helen's indignation as she read this letter, which roused her to a pitch of anger such as Wilford Cameron had never imagined when he wrote the offensive lines. He had really no intention of insulting her. On the contrary, the gift of money was kindly meant, for he knew very well that Uncle Ephraim was poor, while the part referring to the dressmaker was wholly his mother's proposition, to which he had acceded, knowing how much confidence Juno had in her taste, and that whatever she might see at the farmhouse would remain a secret with her, or at most be confined to the ears of his mother and sisters. He wished Katy to look well, and foolishly fancying that no country artiste could make her look so, he consented to Mrs. Ryan's going, never suspecting the storm of anger it would rouse in Helen, whose first impulse was to throw the check into the fire. Her second, however, was soberer. She would not destroy it, nor tell any one she had it but Morris—he should know the whole. Accordingly, without a word to any one, she repaired to Linwood, finding Morris at home, and startling him with the vehemence of her anger as she explained the nature of her errand.
"If I disliked Wilford Cameron before, I hate him now. Yes, hate him," she said, stamping her little foot in fury.
"Why, Helen!" Morris exclaimed, laying his hand reprovingly on her shoulder. "Is this the right spirit for one who professes better things? Stop a moment and think."
"I know it is wrong," Helen answered, the tears glittering in her eyes; "but somehow since he came after Katy, I have grown so hard, so wicked toward Mr. Cameron. He seems so proud, so unapproachable. Say, Cousin Morris, do you think him a good man—that is, good enough for Katy?"
"Most people would call him too good for her," Morris replied. "And, in a worldly point of view, she is doing well, while Mr. Cameron, I believe, is better than three-fourths of the men who marry our girls. He is very proud; but that results from his education and training. Looking only from a New York standpoint he misjudges country people, but he will appreciate you by and by. Do not begin by hating him so cordially."
"Yes, but this money. Now, Morris, we do not want him to get Katy's outfit. I would rather go without clothes my whole life. Shall I send it back?"
"I think that the best disposition to make of it," Morris replied. "As your brother, I can and will supply Katy's needs."
"I knew you would, Morris. What should we do without you?" and Helen smiled gratefully upon the doctor, who in word and deed was to her like a dear brother. "And I'll send it to-day, in time to keep that dreadful Mrs.
