XXIV.
JUST AS IT OUGHT TO BE.
"I chose my wife, as she did her wedding gown, for qualities that would wear well."—Goldsmith.
"Prudence!"
"Well, John," she returned, as he seemed to hesitate.
"Have we arranged everything?"
"Everything! And you have been home three hours."
"Three and a half, if you please; it is now six o'clock."
"Then the tea-bell will ring."
"No; I told Deborah to ring at seven to-night."
"She will think you are putting on the airs of the master."
"Don't you think it is about time? Or, it will be at half past six."
"Why, in half an hour?"
"Half an hour may make all the difference in the world."
"In some instances, yes?"
They were walking up and down the walk they had named years ago "the shrubbery path." He had found her in the shrubbery path in the old days when she used to walk up and down and dream her girlish dreams. Like Linnet she liked her real life better than anything she had dreamed.
Mr. Holmes had returned with his shoulders thrown back, the lines of care softened into lines of thought, and the slouched hat replaced by a broad-brimmed panama; his step was quick, his voice had a ring in it, the stern, determined expression was altogether gone; there was a loveliness in his face that was not in Miss Prudence's own; when his sterner and stronger nature became sweet, it was very sweet. Life had been a long fight; in yielding, he had conquered. He bubbled over into nonsense now and then. Twenty years ago he had walked this path with Prudence Pomeroy, when there was hatred in his heart and an overwhelming sorrow in hers. There always comes a time when we are through. He believed that tonight. Prue was not lighter of heart than he.
"Twenty years is a large piece out of a man's lifetime; but I would have waited twice twenty for this hour, Prudence."
"I wish I deserved my happiness as much as you do yours, John."
"Perhaps you haven't as much to deserve."
"I'm glad I don't deserve it. I want it to be all God's gift and his goodness."
"It is, dear."
"I wish we might take Marjorie with us," she said, after a moment; "she would have such an unalloyed good time."
"Any one else?"
"Mrs. Kemlo."
"Is that all?"
"There's Deborah."
"Prudence, you ought to be satisfied with me. You don't know how to be married."
"Suppose I wait twenty years longer and learn."
"No, it is like learning to swim; the best way is to plunge at once. And at once will be in about twenty minutes, instead of twenty years."
"What do you mean?" she asked, standing still in unfeigned astonishment.
"I mean that your neighbor across the way has been invited to call at half past six this evening to marry me, and I supposed you were willing to be married at the same time."
"John Holmes!"
"Do you want to send me off again?"
"But I never thought of such a thing."
"It wasn't necessary; one brilliant mind is enough to plan. What did you ask me to come home for?"
"But not now—not immediately."
"Why not?" he asked, gravely.
"Because," she smiled at her woman's reason, "I'm not ready."
"Don't you know whether you are willing or not?"
"Yes, I know that."
"Aren't you well enough acquainted with me? Haven't you proved me long enough?"
"O, John," her eyes filling with tears.
"What else can you mean by 'ready'?"
She looked down at her dress; a gray flannel—an iron gray flannel—a gray flannel and linen collar and cuffs to be married in. But was it not befitting her gray locks?
"John, look at me!"
"I am looking at you."
"What do you see?"
"You were never so lovely in your life."
"You were never so obstinate in your life."
"I never had such a good right before. Now listen to reason. You say this house is to be sold; and the furniture, for future housekeeping, is to be packed and stored; that you and Prue are to sail for Havre the first steamer in July; and who beside your husband is to attend to this, and to get you on board the steamer in time?"
"But, John!" laying her hand in expostulation upon his arm.
"But, Prudence!" he laughed. "Is Deborah to go with us? Shall we need her in our Italian palace, or are we to dwell amid ruins?"
"Nothing else would make her old heart so glad."
"Marjorie and Mrs. Kemlo expect to go home to-morrow."
"Yes."
"Don't you want Marjorie to stay and help you?"
"With such a valiant husband at the front! I suspect you mean to create emergencies simply to help me out of them."
"I'm creating one now; and all I want you to do is to be helped out—or in."
"But, John, I must go in and fix my hair."
"Your hair looks as usual."
"But I don't want it to look as usual. Do you want the bride to forget her attire and her ornaments?"
A blue figure with curls flying and arms outstretched was flying down towards them from the upper end of the path.
"O, Aunt Prue! Mr. March has come over—without Mrs. March, and he asked for you. I told him Uncle John had come home, and he smiled, and said he could not get along without him."
"John, you should have asked Mrs. March, too."
"I forgot the etiquette of it. I forgot she was your pastor's wife. But it's too late now."
"Prue!" Miss Prudence laid her hand on Prue's head to keep her quiet.
"Ask Marjorie and Mrs. Kemlo and Deborah to come into the parlor."
"We are to be married, Prue!" said John Holmes.
"Who is?" asked Prue.
"Aunt Prue and I. Don't you want papa and mamma instead of Uncle John and
Aunt Prue?"
"Yes; I do! Wait for us to come. I'll run and tell them," she answered, fleeing away.
"John, this is a very irregular proceeding!"
"It quite befits the occasion, however," he answered gravely. Very slowly they walked toward the house.
All color had left Miss Prudence's cheeks and lips. Deborah was sure she would faint; but Mrs. Kemlo watched her lips, and knew by the firm lines that she would not.
No one thought about the bridegroom, because no one ever does. Prue kept close to Miss Prudence, and said afterward that she was mamma's bridesmaid. Marjorie thought that Morris would be glad if he could know it; he had loved Mr. Holmes.
The few words were solemnly spoken.
Prudence Pomeroy and John Holmes were husband and wife.
"What God hath joined—"
Oh, how God had joined them. She had belonged to him so long.
The bridegroom and bride went on their wedding tour by walking up and down the long parlor in the summer twilight. Not many words were spoken.
Deborah went out to the dining-room to change the table cloth for one of the best damasks, saying to herself, "It's just as it ought to be! Just as it ought to be! And things do happen so once in a while in this crooked world."