Of all the happy faces I saw the day before the marriage, I think the happiest was Mrs. Halifax's, as I met her coming out of Guy's room, which ever since he left had been locked up, unoccupied. Now his mother threw open the door with a cheerful air.
"You may go in if you like, Uncle Phineas. Does it not look nice?"
It did indeed, with the fresh white curtains; the bed laid all in order; the book-shelves arranged, and even the fowling-piece and fishing-rod put in the right places.
The room looked very neat, I said, with an amused doubt as to how long it was to remain so.
"That is true, indeed. How he used to throw his things about! A sad untidy boy!" And his mother laughed; but I saw all her features were trembling with emotion.
"He will not be exactly a boy now. I wonder if we shall find him much changed."
"Very likely. Brown, with a great beard; he said so in one of his letters. I shall hardly know my boy again."—With a lighting-up of the eye that furnished a flat contradiction to the mother's statement.
"Here are some of Mrs. Tod's roses, I see."
"She made me take them. She said Master Guy always used to stop and pick a bunch as he rode past. She hopes she shall see him ride past on Sunday next. Guy must pay her one of his very first visits; the good old soul!"
I hinted that Guy would have to pay visits half over the country, to judge by the number of invitations I had heard of.