CHAPTER XIII
A SURPRISING ANNOUNCEMENT
"Nothing exciting has happened for ever so long," said the Story
Girl discontentedly, one late May evening, as we lingered under
the wonderful white bloom of the cherry trees. There was a long
row of them in the orchard, with a Lombardy poplar at either end,
and a hedge of lilacs behind. When the wind blew over them all
the spicy breezes of Ceylon's isle were never sweeter.
It was a time of wonder and marvel, of the soft touch of silver
rain on greening fields, of the incredible delicacy of young
leaves, of blossom in field and garden and wood. The whole world
bloomed in a flush and tremor of maiden loveliness, instinct with
all the evasive, fleeting charm of spring and girlhood and young
morning. We felt and enjoyed it all without understanding or
analyzing it. It was enough to be glad and young with spring on
the golden road.
"I don't like excitement very much," said Cecily. "It makes one
so tired. I'm sure it was exciting enough when Paddy was missing,
but we didn't find that very pleasant."
"No, but it was interesting," returned the Story Girl
thoughtfully. "After all, I believe I'd rather be miserable than
dull."
"I wouldn't then," said Felicity decidedly. "And you need never
be dull when you have work to do. 'Satan finds some mischief
still for idle hands to do!'"
"Well, mischief is interesting," laughed the Story Girl. "And I
thought you didn't think it lady-like to speak of that person,
Felicity?"
"It's all right if you call him by his polite name," said Felicity
stiffly.
"Why does the Lombardy poplar hold its branches straight up in the
air like that, when all the other poplars hold theirs out or hang
them down?" interjected Peter, who had been gazing intently at the
slender spire showing darkly against the fine blue eastern sky.
"Because it grows that way," said Felicity.
"Oh I know a story about that," cried the Story Girl. "Once upon
a time an old man found the pot of gold at the rainbow's end.
There IS a pot there, it is said, but it is very hard to find
because you can never get to the rainbow's end before it vanishes
from your sight. But this old man found it, just at sunset, when
Iris, the guardian of the rainbow gold, happened to be absent. As
he was a long way from home, and the pot was very big and heavy,
he decided to hide it until morning and then get one of his sons
to go with him and help him carry it. So he hid it under the
boughs of the sleeping poplar tree.
"When Iris came back she missed the pot of gold and of course she
was in a sad way about it. She sent Mercury, the messenger of the
gods, to look for it, for she didn't dare leave the rainbow again,
lest somebody should run off with that too. Mercury asked all the
trees if they had seen the pot of gold, and the elm, oak and pine
pointed to the poplar and said,
"'The poplar can tell you where it is.'
"'How can I tell you where it is?' cried the poplar, and she held
up all her branches in surprise, just as we hold up our hands--and
down tumbled the pot of gold. The poplar was amazed and
indignant, for she was a very honest tree. She stretched her
boughs high above her head and declared that she would always hold
them like that, so that nobody could hide stolen gold under them
again. And she taught all the little poplars she knew to stand
the same way, and that is why Lombardy poplars always do. But the
aspen poplar leaves are always shaking, even on the very calmest
day. And do you know why?"
And then she told us the old legend that the cross on which the
Saviour of the world suffered was made of aspen poplar wood and so
never again could its poor, shaken, shivering leaves know rest or
peace. There was an aspen in the orchard, the very embodiment of
youth and spring in its litheness and symmetry. Its little leaves
were hanging tremulously, not yet so fully blown as to hide its
development of bough and twig, making poetry against the spiritual
tints of a spring sunset.
"It does look sad," said Peter, "but it is a pretty tree, and it
wasn't its fault."
"There's a heavy dew and it's time we stopped talking nonsense and
went in," decreed Felicity. "If we don't we'll all have a cold,
and then we'll be miserable enough, but it won't be very
exciting."
"All the same, I wish something exciting would happen," finished
the Story Girl, as we walked up through the orchard, peopled with
its nun-like shadows.
"There's a new moon tonight, so may be you'll get your wish," said
Peter. "My Aunt Jane didn't believe there was anything in the
moon business, but you never can tell."
The Story Girl did get her wish. Something happened the very next
day. She joined us in the afternoon with a quite indescribable
expression on her face, compounded of triumph, anticipation, and
regret. Her eyes betrayed that she had been crying, but in them
shone a chastened exultation. Whatever the Story Girl mourned
over it was evident she was not without hope.
"I have some news to tell you," she said importantly. "Can you
guess what it is?"
We couldn't and wouldn't try.
"Tell us right off," implored Felix. "You look as if it was
something tremendous."
"So it is. Listen--Aunt Olivia is going to be married."
We stared in blank amazement. Peg Bowen's hint had faded from our
minds and we had never put much faith in it.
"Aunt Olivia! I don't believe it," cried Felicity flatly. "Who
told you?"
"Aunt Olivia herself. So it is perfectly true. I'm awfully sorry
in one way--but oh, won't it be splendid to have a real wedding in
the family? She's going to have a big wedding--and I am to be
bridesmaid."
"I shouldn't think you were old enough to be a bridesmaid," said
Felicity sharply.
"I'm nearly fifteen. Anyway, Aunt Olivia says I have to be."
"Who's she going to marry?" asked Cecily, gathering herself
together after the shock, and finding that the world was going on
just the same.
"His name is Dr. Seton and he is a Halifax man. She met him when
she was at Uncle Edward's last summer. They've been engaged ever
since. The wedding is to be the third week in June."
"And our school concert comes off the next week," complained
Felicity. "Why do things always come together like that? And what
are you going to do if Aunt Olivia is going away?"
"I'm coming to live at your house," answered the Story Girl rather
timidly. She did not know how Felicity might like that. But
Felicity took it rather well.
"You've been here most of the time anyhow, so it'll just be that
you'll sleep and eat here, too. But what's to become of Uncle
Roger?"
"Aunt Olivia says he'll have to get married, too. But Uncle Roger
says he'd rather hire a housekeeper than marry one, because in the
first case he could turn her off if he didn't like her, but in the
second case he couldn't."
"There'll be a lot of cooking to do for the wedding," reflected
Felicity in a tone of satisfaction.
"I s'pose Aunt Olivia will want some rusks made. I hope she has
plenty of tooth-powder laid in," said Dan.
"It's a pity you don't use some of that tooth-powder you're so
fond of talking about yourself," retorted Felicity. "When anyone
has a mouth the size of yours the teeth show so plain."
"I brush my teeth every Sunday," asseverated Dan.
"Every Sunday! You ought to brush them every DAY."
"Did anyone ever hear such nonsense?" demanded Dan sincerely.
"Well, you know, it really does say so in the Family Guide," said
Cecily quietly.
"Then the Family Guide people must have lots more spare time than
I have," retorted Dan contemptuously.
"Just think, the Story Girl will have her name in the papers if
she's bridesmaid," marvelled Sara Ray.
"In the Halifax papers, too," added Felix, "since Dr. Seton is a
Halifax man. What is his first name?"
"Robert."
"And will we have to call him Uncle Robert?"
"Not until he's married to her. Then we will, of course."
"I hope your Aunt Olivia won't disappear before the ceremony,"
remarked Sara Ray, who was surreptitiously reading "The Vanquished
Bride," by Valeria H. Montague in the Family Guide.
"I hope Dr. Seton won't fail to show up, like your cousin Rachel
Ward's beau," said Peter.
"That makes me think of another story I read the other day about
Great-uncle Andrew King and Aunt Georgina," laughed the Story
Girl. "It happened eighty years ago. It was a very stormy winter
and the roads were bad. Uncle Andrew lived in Carlisle, and Aunt
Georgina--she was Miss Georgina Matheson then--lived away up west,
so he couldn't get to see her very often. They agreed to be
married that winter, but Georgina couldn't set the day exactly
because her brother, who lived in Ontario, was coming home for a
visit, and she wanted to be married while he was home. So it was
arranged that she was to write Uncle Andrew and tell him what day
to come. She did, and she told him to come on a Tuesday. But her
writing wasn't very good and poor Uncle Andrew thought she wrote
Thursday. So on Thursday he drove all the way to Georgina's home
to be married. It was forty miles and a bitter cold day. But it
wasn't any colder than the reception he got from Georgina. She
was out in the porch, with her head tied up in a towel, picking
geese. She had been all ready Tuesday, and her friends and the
minister were there, and the wedding supper prepared. But there
was no bridegroom and Georgina was furious. Nothing Uncle Andrew
could say would appease her. She wouldn't listen to a word of
explanation, but told him to go, and never show his nose there
again. So poor Uncle Andrew had to go ruefully home, hoping that
she would relent later on, because he was really very much in love
with her."
"And did she?" queried Felicity.
"She did. Thirteen years exactly from that day they were married.
It took her just that long to forgive him."
"It took her just that long to find out she couldn't get anybody
else," said Dan, cynically.
