Part 18 (1/2)

”Graduation from high school” ranks second in importance only to a wedding in rural New England families. For not only the ”Graduating Exercises” themselves, with their ”Salutatory” and ”Valedictory”

addresses, their ”Cla.s.s History” and ”Cla.s.s Prophecy,” their essays and songs, const.i.tute a great occasion, but there is also the all-day excursion of picnic character; the ”Baccalaureate Sermon” in the largest church; the ”Prize Speaking” in the nearest ”Opera House”; and last, but not least, the ”Graduation Ball” in the Town Hall. The boys suffer agonies in patent-leather boots, high, stiff collars and blue serge suits; the girls suffer torments of jealousy over the fortunate few whose white organdie dresses come ”ready-made” straight from Boston. The Valedictorian, the winner at ”Prize Speaking,” the belle of the parties, are great and glorious beings somewhat set apart from the rest of the graduates; and long after housework and farming are peacefully resumed again, the success of ”our cla.s.s” is a topic of enduring interest.

A wedding brings even more in its train. The bride's house, where the marriage service, as well as the wedding reception, generally takes place, must be swept and scoured from attic to cellar, and, if possible, painted and papered as well. Guest-rooms must be set in order for visiting members of the family, and the bridal feast prepared and served without the help of caterers. The express office is haunted for incoming wedding presents, and though the destination of ”the trip”--generally to Montreal or Niagara Falls if the happy pair can afford it--is a well-guarded secret, the trousseau and the gifts, as they arrive, stand in proud display for the neighbors to run in and admire, and the prospective bride and groom, self-conscious and blus.h.i.+ng, attend divine service together in the face of a smiling and whispering congregation.

It was small wonder, then, that the Gray family, with the prospect of a graduation and a wedding within a few days of each other before it, was thrown into a ferment of excitement compared to which the hilarity of the Christmas holidays was but a mild ripple. Molly had won a scholars.h.i.+p at the Conservatory, and was beginning to show some talent for musical composition; Katherine was the Valedictorian of her cla.s.s; Edith had every dance engaged for the ball; and though Thomas had not distinguished himself in any special way, he had kept a good average all the year in his studies, and managed to be very nearly self-supporting by the outside ”ch.o.r.es” he had done at college, and it was felt that he, too, deserved much credit, and that his home-coming would be a joyful event. He was trying out ”practical experiments” with his cla.s.s, and could promise only to arrive ”just in time”; but Molly, who headed her letters with the notes of the wedding march, and said that she was practising it every night, wrote that she would be home _plenty_ long enough beforehand to help with _everything_, and that mother _simply mustn't_ get all worn out working too hard with the house-cleaning; Sadie and James were coming home for a week, to take in both festivities, though Sadie must be ”careful not to overdo just now.” Katherine was entirely absorbed in her determination to get ”over ninety” in every one of her final examinations; and Mr. and Mrs. Gray were both so busy and so preoccupied that Edith and Peter were left to pursue the course of true love un.o.bserved and undisturbed.

The effect which Austin's letter to his mother, written the night after he reached New York, produced in a household already pitched so high, may readily be imagined. A thunderbolt casually exploding in their midst could not have effected half such a shock of surprise, or the gift of all the riches of the Orient so much joy. And when, a week later, he came home bringing Sylvia with him--a new Sylvia, laughing, crying, blus.h.i.+ng, as shy as a girl surprised at her first tete-a-tete, Mr. and Mrs. Gray welcomed the little lady they loved so well as their daughter.

Those were great days for Mrs. Elliott, who, as mother of the prospective bridegroom, as well as Mrs. Gray's most intimate friend, enjoyed especial privileges; and as she was not averse to sharing her information and experiences, the entire village joyfully fell upon the morsels of choice gossip with which she regaled them.

”I don't believe any house in the village ever held so many elegant clothes at once,” she declared. ”For besides all Sally's things, which are just too sweet for anything, there's Katherine's graduation dress an'

ball-dress, an' a third one, mind, to wear when she's bridesmaid--most girls would think they was pretty lucky to have any one of the three!

Edith has a bridesmaid's dress just like hers, an' a bright yellow one for the ball, an' Molly's maid-of-honor's outfit is handsomest of all--pale pink silk, draped over kind of careless-like with chif_fon_, an' shoes an' silk stockin's to match. An' Mis' Gray, besides that pearl-colored satin Austin brought her from Europe, has a lavender brocade! 'I didn't feel to need it at all,' she told me, 'but Sylvia just insisted. ”Two nice dresses aren't a bit too many for you to have,” says Sylvia; ”the gray one will be lovely for church all summer, an' after Sally's weddin', you can put away the lavender for--Austin's,” she finished up, blus.h.i.+n' like a rose.' 'Have you any idea when that's goin'

to be?' I couldn't help askin'. 'No,' says Mis' Gray, 'I wish I had.

Howard an' I tried to persuade her to be married the same night as Sally!

I've always admired a double-weddin'. But she wouldn't hear of it, an' I must say I was surprised to see her so set against it, an' that Austin didn't urge her a bit, either, for they just set their eyes by each other, any one can see that, an' there ain't a thing to hinder 'em from gettin' married to-morrow, that I know of, if they want to--unless perhaps they think it's too soon,' she ended up, kinder meanin'-like.”

”The presents are somethin' wonderful,” Mrs. Elliott related on another occasion. ”Sally's uncle out in Seattle--widower of her that left Austin all that money--has sent her a whole dinner-set, white with pink roses on it--twelve dozen pieces in all, countin' vegetable dishes, bone-plates, an' a soup-tureen. She's had sixteen pickle-forks, ten bon-bon spoons, an' eight cut-gla.s.s whipped-cream bowls, but I dare say they'll all come in handy, one way or another, an' it makes you feel good to have so many generous friends. Austin's insisted on givin' her one of them Holst_een_ cows he fetched over from Holland, an' Fred says it's one of the most valuable things she's got, though I should feel as if any good bossy, raised right here in Hamstead, would probably do 'em just as well, an'

that he might have chosen somethin' a little more tasty. Ain't men queer?

Sylvia? Oh, she's given her a whackin' big check--enough so Sally can pay all her 'personal expenses,' as she calls 'em all her life, an' never touch the princ.i.p.al at that; an' a big box of knives an' forks an'

spoons--'a chest of flat silver' she calls it, an' a silver tea-set to match--awful plain pattern they are, but Sally likes 'em. Yes, it's nice of her, but it ain't any more than I expected. She's got plenty of money--why shouldn't she spend it?”

Only once did Mrs. Elliott say anything unpleasant, and the village, knowing her usually sharp tongue, thought she did remarkably well, and took but little stock in this particular speech.

”I'm glad it's Sally Fred picked out, an' not one of the other girls,”

she declared; ”she's twenty-nine years old now--a good, sensible age--pleasant an' easy-goin', same's her mother is, an' yet real capable.

Ruth always was a silly, incompetent little thing--she has to hire help most of the time, with nothin' in the world to do but cook for Frank, look after that little tiny house, take care of them two babies, an' go into the store off an' on when business is rus.h.i.+n'. Molly's head is full of nothin' but music, an' Katherine's of books. As to that pretty little fool, Edith, I'm glad she ain't my daughter, runnin' round all the time with that Dutch boy, an' her parents both so possessed with the idea that she ain't out of her cradle yet--she bein' the youngest--that they can't see it. Peter ain't the only one she keeps company with either--if he was, it wouldn't be so bad, for I guess he's a good enough boy, though I can't understand a mortal word he says, an' them foreigners all have a kinder vacant look, to me. But the other night I was took awful sudden with one of them horrible attacks of indigestion I'm subject to--we'd had rhubarb pie for supper, an' 'twas just elegant, but I guess I ate too much of it, an' the telephone wouldn't work on account of the thunderstorm we'd had that day--seems like that there'd been a lot of them this season--so Joe had to hitch up an' go for the doctor. As he went past the cemetery, he see Edith leanin' over the fence with that no-count Jack Weston--an' it was past midnight, too!”

In the midst of such general satisfaction, it was perhaps inevitable that at least one person should not be pleased. And that person, as will be readily guessed, was Thomas. Sylvia, thinking the blow might fall more bearably from his brother's hand than from hers, relegated the task of writing him to Austin; and Austin, with a wicked twinkle in his eye, wrote him in this wise:

DEAR THOMAS:

When you made that little break that I warned you against this spring, Sylvia probably offered to be a sister to you. I believe that is usual on such occasions. You have doubtless noticed that she is exceptionally truthful for a girl, so--largely to keep her word to you, perhaps--she decided a little while ago to marry me. Of course, I tried to dissuade her from this plan, but you know she is also stubborn. There seems to be nothing for me to do but to fall in with it. I don't know yet when the execution is going to take place, and though, of course, it would be a relief in a way if I did, I am not finding the death sentence without its compensations. Why don't you come home over some Sunday, and see how well I am bearing up? Sylvia told me to ask you, with her love, or I should not bother, for I am naturally a little loath, even now, to have so dangerous a rival, as you proved yourself in your spring vacation, too much in evidence.

Your affectionate brother

AUSTIN

P.S. Have you taken any more ladies to Moving-Picture Palaces lately?

Needless to say, if Sylvia had seen this epistle, it would not have gone.

But she did not. Austin took good care of that. And Thomas did come home--without waiting for Sunday. He rushed to the Dean's office, and told him there had been a death in the family. It is probable that, at the moment, he felt that this was true. At any rate, the Dean, looking at the boy's flushed cheeks and heavy eyes, did not doubt it for an instant.

”Of course, you must go home at once,” he said kindly; ”wait a minute, my Ford's at the door. I'll run you down to the station--you can just catch the one o'clock. I'll tell one of the fellows to express a suit-case to you this evening.”