“If that will please you the most, you may, assuredly. Kathie must make one more trip to the city before the wedding and you might go with her to select what you would like.”
“Will you take me, Kathie? I beseech you with all the ardency of my nature.”
“Why, of course I will,” responded her sister heartily. “I think if we get the hat untrimmed and the flowers separate, that I can trim it and it will not cost so much, or we can get finer flowers for it in that way.”
And so the nasturtium hat was bought, and Elizabeth’s cup of happiness was full. Betsy was no less happy. She had received high praise from her aunt and uncle, who said that she had done them credit, and that they were quite as well pleased with her honorable mention as with the scholarship; in fact, they were more pleased because she had so nearly won it, and as things were it was better that Elizabeth should be first.
Loyal, good, little Betsy said never a word about the battle of Alamance, but took the praise sedately and turned her thoughts to the wedding, now but a few days off.
As for the event itself, it was like most others, except that among the guests rarely are three happier girls than those who sat side by side, one in yellow, one in white and one in blue, and who were the first to kiss the bride after her own family had done so.
They all rode home together in the gloaming, tired but very, very content. The new house for the newer Mrs. Tyson loomed up among the trees. Opposite stood the schoolhouse, silent and deserted.
“The door is locked,” murmured Elizabeth to Betsy, “locked for us always.”
“Why, no, it isn’t,” returned Betsy. “We can go in if we like sometimes.”
“I didn’t mean just that,” replied Elizabeth, with a backward look at the familiar door; but Betsy did not follow the flight of Elizabeth’s thoughts, which were already speeding on through future years.