agreeable, in fact,—you know I always did like to be made much of,—so you can imagine my disgust when presently three of the stoutest ladies you ever saw came sailing up the aisle, and prepared to invade my pew.
“Please move up, Madam,” said the fattest of all, who wore a wonderful yellow hat.
But I was not “raised” at Hillsover for nothing, and remembering the success of our little ruse on the railroad train long ago, I stepped out into the aisle, and with my sweetest smile made room for them to pass.
“Perhaps I would better keep the seat next the door,” I murmured to the yellow lady, “in case an attack should come on.”
“An attack!” she repeated in an accent of alarm. She whispered to the others. All three eyed me suspiciously, while I stood looking as pensive and suffering as I could. Then after confabulating together for a little, they all swept into the seat behind mine, and I heard them speculating in low tones as to whether it was epilepsy or catalepsy or convulsions that I was subject to. I presume they made signs to all the other people who came in to steer clear of the lady with fits, for nobody invaded my privacy, and I sat in lonely splendor with a pew to myself, and was very comfortable indeed.
Mary’s dress was white satin, with a great deal of point lace and pearl passementerie, and she wore a pair of diamond ear-rings which her father gave her, and a bouquet almost but not quite as large, which was the gift of the bridegroom. He has a nice face, and I think Silvery Mary will be happy with him, much happier than with her rather dismal family, though his salary is only fifteen hundred a year, and pearl passementerie, I believe, quite unknown and useless in the Hoosac region. She had loads of the most beautiful presents you ever saw. All the Silvers are rolling in riches, you know. One little thing made me laugh, for it was so like her. When the clergyman said, “Mary, wilt thou take this man to be thy wedded husband?” I distinctly saw her put her fingers over her mouth in the old, frightened way. It was only for a second, and after that I rather think Mr. Strothers held her hand tight for fear she might do it again. She sent her love to you, Katy. What sort of a gown are you going to have, by the way?
I have kept my best news to the last, which is that Deniston has at last given way, and we are to move into town in October. We have taken a little house in West Cedar Street. It is quite small and very dingy and I presume inconvenient, but I already love it to distraction, and feel as if I should sit up all night for the first month to enjoy the sensation of being no longer that horrid thing, a resident of the suburbs. I hunt the paper shops and collect samples of odd and occult pattern, and compare them with carpets, and am altogether in my element, only longing for the time to come when I may put together my pots and pans and betake me across the mill-dam. Meantime, Roslein is living in a state of quarantine. She is not permitted to speak with any other children, or even to look out of window at one, for fear she may contract some sort of contagious disease, and spoil our beautiful visit to Burnet. She sends you a kiss, and so do I; and mother and Sylvia and Deniston and grandmamma, particularly, desire their love.
Your loving
Rose Red.
“Oh,” cried Clover, catching Katy round the waist, and waltzing wildly about the room, “what a delicious letter! What fun we are going to have! It seems too good to be true. Tum-ti-ti, tum-ti-ti. Keep step, Katy. I forgive you for the first time for getting married. I never did before, really and truly. Tum-ti-ti; I am so happy that I must dance!”
“There go my letters,” said Katy, as with the last rapid twirl, Rose’s many-sheeted epistle and the “Advice to Brides” flew to right and left. “There go two of your hair-pins, Clover. Oh, do stop; we shall all be in pieces.”
Clover brought her gyrations to a close by landing her unwilling partner suddenly on the sofa. Then with a last squeeze and a rapid kiss she began to pick up the scattered letters.
“Now read the rest,” she commanded, “though anything else will sound flat after Rose’s.”
“Hear this first,” said Elsie, who had taken advantage of the pause to open her own letter. “It is from Cecy, and she says she is coming to spend a month with her mother on purpose to be here for Katy’s wedding. She sends heaps of love to you, Katy, and says she only hopes that Mr. Worthington will prove as perfectly satisfactory in all respects as her own dear Sylvester.”
“My gracious, I should hope he would,” put in Clover, who was still in the wildest spirits. “What a dear old goose Cecy is! I never hankered in the least for Sylvester Slack, did you, Katy?”
“Certainly not. It would be a most improper proceeding if I had,” replied Katy, with a laugh. “Whom do you think this letter is from, girls? Do listen to it. It’s written by that nice old Mr. Allen Beach, whom we met in London. Don’t you recollect my telling you about him?”
My dear Miss Carr,—Our friends in Harley Street have told me a piece of news concerning you which came to them lately in a letter from Mrs. Ashe, and I hope you will permit me to offer you my most sincere congratulations and good wishes. I recollect meeting Lieutenant Worthington when he was here two years ago, and liking him very much. One is always glad in a foreign land to be able to show so good a specimen of one’s young countrymen as he affords,—not that England need be counted as a foreign country by any American, and least of all by myself, who have found it a true home for so many years.
As a little souvenir of our week of sight-seeing together, of which I retain most agreeable remembrances, I have sent you by my friends the Sawyers, who sail for America shortly, a copy of Hare’s “Walks in London,” which a young protégée of mine has for the past year been illustrating with photographs of the many curious old buildings described. You took so much interest in them while here that I hope you may like to see them again. Will you please accept with it my most cordial wishes for your future, and believe me
Very faithfully your friend,
Allen Beach.
“What a nice letter!” said Clover.
“Isn’t it?” replied Katy, with shining eyes, “what a thing it is to be a gentleman, and to know how to say and do things in the right way! I am so surprised and pleased that Mr. Beach should remember me. I never supposed he would, he sees so many people in London all the time, and it is quite a long time since we were there, nearly two years. Was your letter from Miss Inches, John?”
“Yes, and Mamma Marian sends you her love; and there’s a present coming by express for you,—some sort of a book with a hard name. I can scarcely make it out, the Ru—ru—something of Omar Kay—y—Well, anyway it’s a book, and she hopes you will read Emerson’s ‘Essay on Friendship’ over before you are married, because it’s a helpful utterance, and adjusts the mind to mutual conditions.”
“Worse than 1 Timothy, ii. 11,” muttered Clover. “Well, Katy dear, what next? What are you laughing at?”
“You will never guess, I am sure. This is a letter from Miss Jane! And she has made me this pincushion!”
The pincushion was of a familiar type, two circles of pasteboard covered with gray silk, neatly over-handed together, and stuck with a row of closely fitting pins. Miss Jane’s note ran as follows:—
Hillsover, April 21.
Dear Katy,—I hear from Mrs. Nipson that you are to be married shortly, and I want to say that you have my best wishes for your future. I think a man ought to be happy who has you for a wife. I only hope the one you have chosen is worthy of you. Probably he isn’t, but perhaps you
