modate more than in the drawing-room and still have the dining-room free." "But, Lady Washington, ma'am," said Mrs. Mummer, anxiously, "if so be we have guests in the gallery, how will Miss Bee ever win down the stair without crushing her finery?" "She must not come down those stairs," Lady Washington asserted with decision. "I like not to look at a woman as she bobs from step to step, and in the face of so great a company it would be most awkwardish. Nay, she shall seek her maids in the dining-room by way of the back stairs. I 've seen such before lined with clean sheets to save the bride's ruffles." "Now that's well thought of!" exclaimed Mrs. Mummer, and then, with a little toss of her head, "but, begging Your Ladyship's pardon, there will be no need of sheets. My back stairs are as white as my front." "Aye, that I'm well assured of, Mrs. Mummer," came the quick reply. "You are too notable a housewife to make so slovenly an expedient necessary." It was so quickly and gracefully done, thatMrs. Mummer glowed at the compliment. "I thank Your Ladyship," she murmured, "and I'm sure the arrangements you have suggested will be perfect." "Yes, 't is the best plan, I 'm certain," Madam Washington went on, with a nod and a smile to us all. "Once in the dining-room, the great doors may be set wide, the bridesmaids will enter the hall in front, and, last, the bride herself, with eyes as they should be, modestly cast down, leaning upon His Excellency's arm.” For General Washington was to stand in place of a father to Bee, she having no near relatives outside of England, and her own father being dead since she was a baby. So it was agreed, and when that evening we spoke of the arrangements to General Washington, telling him how his lady had solved our difficulties, he chuckled thoughtfully to himself. "Eh, now, 't is Her Ladyship who should have been the general!" he declared with pride. “'T is a most suitable arrangement. I like well the strategy of taking the guests upon the flank, rather than braving their fire from the front. What say you, Mistress Beatrice?" Bee laughingly assented, but truth to tell she assented to everything, and would have said "Aye" had they wished her to wed in the kitchen. There was no doubt Bee was happy. 'T was plain to all who saw her, but now and then I caught a wistful look on her face, as if, perchance, she longed for something she could in no wise attain. I taxed her with it that night as she sat on the edge of my bed. "Nay now, Peggy!" she protested; "'t is your imagination. I'm the happiest girl in America. Sure no others see aught else in my face?" "There's no one loves you as I d-d-do, Bee," I answered. "I think 't was my heart t-t-told me." At that she took me in her arms and held me close. 'Tis not that I 'm sad, Peg dear," she began, "but-but I can't help thinking now and then of Granny, and of Horace and Hal, my brothers, far away in England. They don't even know yet that I am to be married, and-and a maid can't help wishing that one of her own family was by upon her wedding-day." I had no words to comfort her. Indeed, I scarce understood, seeing that her brothers could not love her better than we at Denewood; but, to show my sympathy, I nestled close to her, and so we stayed a moment or two in silence. Then I said, a little hurt perhaps: "Is n't a c-c-cousin a piece of the family, Bee?" At which she gave a low laugh. "Your old Bee is an ungrateful girl!" she cried. "I feel ashamed to be wishing for the impossible when I have so much. Let us speak no more of it." And a little later, with a good-night kiss, she left me. CHAPTER III BEE'S WEDDING-CAKE I AWOKE next morning to find Mrs. Mummer standing at my bedside, looking down at me with a smile upon her face. "Is the d-d-day fair?" I asked anxiously, for it had looked cloudy the night before. "Aye," she answered contentedly, "t is fair, and happy is the bride the sun shines on,' as Mummer says." But I wanted to see for myself, so, jumping up, I pattered to the window in my nightrail to look out. The sky was blue, with scarce a cloud in it, and it was so warm and sunny that it seemed like a day in June rather than early December. "'T is fine enough even for Bee's w-w-wedding," I stuttered, with a sigh of satisfaction. Most of the day I was busy scurrying here and there upon errands for Mrs. Mummer, and was but half aware of the many arrivals at Denewood. All the wedding-party was on hand, that I knew, and the Rev. William White, of Christ Church, who was to read the service. For the rest I had little concern, though once or twice I remember running into Major McLane, who would have stopped me, vowing I was forgetting old friendships. It must have been nigh time for me to be putting on my own finery, when Mrs. Mummer sent me off with a message for the head gardener. "'T is the last of your duties this day, Peggy dear," she said, patting my shoulder lovingly; "indeed, I know not how I should have fared had you not been here to help me," and with that praise in my ears, I sped quickly to do her bidding. On my way back I was tempted by a glint of red in the wood bordering the roadway, and, thinking that some bright leaves might add to the show of flowers, which were none too plentiful at that season, I hurried to investigate. I was disappointed with what I found, for, though at a distance they seemed fresh enough, a closer inspection showed them rusty and withered. I was about to go back to the house, which was hidden by the trees and might have been a mile away for all one could see, when a hail from the road turned me sharp about. And there, drawn up, was a cart half filled with boxes. The driver held the reins listlessly as a tired man will, looking disconsolately at his jaded horse, while between us stood a young man, fashionably dressed, albeit very dusty. "Can you tell me if there is a place called Denewood near?" he asked, politely enough. "W-w-why, it's r-r-right h-h-here," I answered, stuttering more than was my wont, because I addressed a stranger. "Right here!" he exclaimed joyfully. "Now indeed that is good news. I thought I'd never come at it." Then for an instant he looked at me quizzically. "On my life, I believe 't is Peggy!" he burst out finally. Now to be greeted with such a lack of ceremony by a dusty youth off the road did not suit my taste, and I made as if to leave him. "Hold on," he cried, vaulting the wall and stepping before me, "you are Peg, are n't you?" "I w-w-waste no words on s-s-saucy, chancemet s-s-strangers!" I declared, with my nose in the air in imitation of Bee's haughtiest manner. "Your pardon," he murmured, giving me the compliment of his hat, which was vastly soothing to my dignity. "I'm Hal Travers, Bee's brother, just arrived out of England. Has n't she told you of me? She never tired talking of you." "You Hal Travers?" I nigh shouted in my delight and surprise. "Oh, I'm s-s-so glad! You 're just in t-time for the wedding." "The wedding!" he exclaimed, surprised in his turn. "Whose wedding?" "W-w-why, Bee's, of course," I explained. "She'll be m-m-married at candle-light, and you must hurry." "Hold on," he remonstrated, glum on the instant, "I like not this sudden news of Bee's marriage. She's a great heiress since her cousin, John Travers, died and left her his estate." "B-b-but he is n't dead!" I told him; "'t is John Travers she is to wed. Now will you hurry?" Hal was for hearing more of the wedding, and was eager with a hundred questions, but I knew there was no time to be lost, and begged him to curb his curiosity. Already a plan to surprise Bee had formed in my mind. "Have you a wedding suit?" I asked anxiously. "Nay, I never so named it," he answered, with a glance at the boxes in the cart, "but I have a plum-colored velvet of the latest cut that might serve, if the affair is not too fashionable." ""T will e'en have to d-d-do," I told him, "though the wedding is m-m-monstrous fashionable." Then, having instructed the carter how to find the entrance, a hundred yards or so down the road, and to drive to the stables at once, I led Hal through the trees to the back of the house. He followed me obediently, ready to enter into my plans, and I was sure I was going to like him for his own sake as well as Bee's. I sent at once for Bart, who came promptly, dressed in his parade uniform and jangling his sword as he hurried. He looked so handsome in his blue and buff that I was very proud as I introduced them. "This is Bee's brother Hal, just out of England," I explained; but I was not in the least prepared for Bart's cold salutation and the stiff little bow he gave. "T is scarce a good year for Britishers," he growled, and I looked for a resentful answer from Hal, but was agreeably surprised. "Sure, 't is a bad policy not to welcome a Britisher who thinks the colonies have the right of it in their fight with the king," he said easily, hitting on the instant the cause of Bart's ungraciousness. "If that's how the matter stands, you 're thrice welcome," cried Bart, holding out a hand to him. The cart had arrived by this time with Hal's boxes, among which I noted a huge packing-case which seemed strange luggage for a dandy; but I was too busy explaining my plans to give much thought to it. Bart was to take Hal to his room to dress, after which we were to meet, near the dining-room door, just a few minutes before the ceremony. This being understood, I ran off to make ready, scarce able to contain myself, so excited was I at the prospect before me. Mrs. Mummer was too busy with Bee's appareling to note how long I had been upon her er rand, and, moreover, Clarinda was to help me, so my absence had gone unremarked. As it happened, I was almost late, for the music had begun as I ran down the stairs to meet Hal at the place appointed. He was there, waiting unnoticed among so many strangers, though in truth he looked elegant enough in his plumcolored velvet to have attracted attention at any other time. I took his hand and led him to the dining-room, where the bridal party was already assembled. As I opened the door, I heard Bee's voice. "Where is Peg?" she asked. "We can't start without her." By this I was in the room, and, stil! holding Hal's hand, I went directly to her; but it was the first time I had seen her fully dressed for her wedding, and she looked so beautiful in her white veil that I forgot everything else and stood dumb, staring at her, and she in turn, astounded at the sight of her brother, could make no sound. The others, seeing that something unforeseen had happened, ceased to talk, so there was silence in the room. Then I found my tongue. ""T-t-t is the w-w-wedding-g-gift you w-wwanted, Bee," I whispered, and at that every one began to talk again, but I had eyes only for the bride. "Hal!" she cried, taking a step toward him, "is it really you? Now I am happy!" "Aye," he answered, "and Granny sends her love to you, as does Horrie." "And they 're well?" asked Bee, eagerly. "Never better," he answered. "I'm so glad he 's here," she murmured, with a nod and a joyous smile at me as she stepped back to His Excellency's side, for it was high time we were starting. "Now, Peggy," some one said, putting a basket of flowers in my hand and setting me in front. Then the doors were opened, and, 'mid a burst of music, I led the bridal party out of the room. There was, however, another surprise in store for the bride. As we looked into the great hall, there, hanging on the wall above the turn of the stairs, was a portrait of Bee, so like her that it seemed as if she were walking to meet herself. This was a picture painted by Sir Joshua Reynolds when Bee was in England, and it had been in the huge case I had noted among Hal's boxes. He had spoken of it to Bart, who forthwith had it unpacked and hung, to every one's delight. So Bee and Cousin John were married, but memory plays us queer tricks, and from the time I entered the hall until we were seated at table toasting the bride and groom, all is vague. I can still bring back Cousin John, who faced us as we entered with eyes for none but Bee, and beside him Allan McLane, standing stiff and straight as if on parade; but of the brilliant assemblage of gaily dressed ladies and gentlemen, I have small recollection. Perhaps some will find a reason for my remembering so little of the wedding itself in that I was but a very young child, though I thought myself quite grown-up. The truth is, once the service was over, my whole mind centered on the cutting of the cake, and that operation is still fresh in my memory after all these years. The great confection was set at the top of the table reserved for the bridal party, and never before or since did I see so monstrous a cake. Mrs. Mummer had kept her word. None such had ever been baked in Germantown. I could scarce eat for keeping my eyes upon it, while I wondered where lay the ring, the thimble, and the silver piece, and who would get them. At length, after what seemed like hours of waiting, my patience gave out. "Oh, Bee!" I sighed, "m-m-must more healths be drunk? S-s-sure I'd think you and Cousin John would be the healthiest p-p-people in the world already." "What is it you want, dear?" Bee asked, smiling and leaning toward me. "Is n't it m-m-m-most time to cut the c-ccake?" I implored, and as if I had given a signal, every one at the table cried, "Cut the cake!" But before it could be done, Mrs. Mummer had to be called to point out the portion that had been reserved for the bridal party, and in which the talismans were placed. She came in looking very important, albeit a little flustered at the compliments paid her cookery, and having shown Bee where to cut, she stepped back to watch, remarking with satisfaction: "There's not a maid in miles but will dream of her true-love to-night on a bit of that cake passed through the wedding-ring." Bee picked up the huge knife used to carve our great barons of beef, but, ere she set to work, Allan McLane stopped her. "Nay!" he cried, making a long arm and plucking Cousin John's sword from its scabbard, "this is the knife for a soldier's wife!" and he brought it to her. Bee took it with a smile of thanks, held it aloft a moment, and then made the first cut. Polly and Betty, my sisters, Sally Wister, Fanny Morris, and Mary Rawle, the other bridesmaidens, were served first, and when my turn came, I saw that Bee skipped a slice; but I scarce heeded that fact then, for, with a sinking heart, I heard Sally say she had bit on something hard. Alas for Sally! It was the thimble she had found, dooming her to spinsterhood, and my spirits rose, for 't was the opposite of that I wished for. Then Mary Rawle held up a silver thrippenny. bit foretelling riches for her, and still I hoped. But just as I was about to bite into my own slice, Betty, mantling prettily, showed the golden ring. I felt myself nigh to tears, for 't was that I had longed for, and I put my portion down untasted, sore disappointed. "Look in your slice, Peg," whispered Bee, "I'm sure I felt something as the sword cut through.” "Nay," said Mrs. Mummer, "'t is impossible. There's naught else in it save good plums." But, made hopeful by Bee's words and SO scarce heeding Mrs. Mummer, I picked up my cake and bit into it, my teeth meeting at once on metal. In a moment I had it in my hand, and was stuttering violently in my excitement. "Oh, Bee!" I cried, "I 've g-g-got the r-r-ring! I've g-g-got the r-r-ring!" "Nonsense, child, how could that be, when Betty has it?" asked Polly. "Hers c-can't be the r-r-right one," I maintained stoutly, holding up a massive jeweled circle on my outspread palm. "Now, however came that in the cake?" cried Mrs. Mummer, and her astonished exclamation brought all the company about my chair. "Did you not put it in, Mrs. Mummer?" asked Cousin John. "Nay, Master John!" she asserted, "I never laid eyes on it before, and what 's more, no hand but mine touched aught that went into the dough." "Ho, ho!" laughed Cousin John, "here 's a fine mystery. How came that ring into the cake?” "And what meaning hath it for the child?" asked Mrs. Mummer, with a worried shake of her head; but there was no answer to either question. (To be continued.) |