“Oh, it takes such a little minute to be married!” cried Betty Wales in an awestruck voice, when it was over.
“It’s going to take time to eat the Wedding Feast,” Madeline announced, and led the way down a little side-path to the water’s edge. There the Wedding Feast was spread on a long table, lovely with ferns and more daisies. Bridget and Nora were in charge, but under them worked a small army of water-nymphs, dryads, elves, and woodland fairies, who seated the guests and then served them, giving odd, fairy names to prosaic dishes, and pausing in their labors to dance, sing, and chant the Lay of the Woodland Wedding, which Madeline and Helen Adams had sat up the whole night before Babbie’s wedding to compose, as an engagement present for Betty Wales. The nymphs, elves, and fairies were professors’ small sons and daughters, not yet off on their vacations, and Stocking Factory children from the other hill—all as merry and companionable together as possible. Mary Brooks Hinsdale and Emily Davis had dressed them, according to Madeline’s orders. Georgia Ames had taught them the songs and the Woodland Wedding Lay, and Bob, who had learned a lot of folk-dances at a New York settlement, came up two days early to contribute her share to the Loveliest Wedding.
That was what Mary christened it, as the wedding party took ship again; and Mary’s names always stuck.
“Oh, it is, of course,” agreed Babbie, a little wistfully. She and Mr. Thayer had planned their journeyings to include Betty’s wedding. “And the most impromptu. It makes even yours seem quite cold and formal, Mary.”
“For once,” put in Bob placidly, “I’ve eaten as much wedding cake as I wanted. Picnics are the only time you can eat all you want, you know, and still be a perfect lady. That’s why I particularly adore them.”
Up at Morton Hall Jasper J. Morton, who had come to the wedding with Babe and John, was berating them both roundly because he had forgotten most of his present for Betty—the part he had remembered was merely a wonderful old silver tea-service fit for a princess.
“Oh, well, it’s no matter,” he acknowledged at last. “Nothing to boil over at, Miss B. A. It’s very easy to describe the missing articles—a deed to the Coach and Six and to my share in the Tally-ho. Conditioned on your dining with me once every time you come to New York to look after your properties.”
Betty gasped. “Oh, Mr. Morton, you shouldn’t give me anything more. It isn’t right to give two—three wedding presents. Such splendid ones, too!”
Mr. Morton smiled at her fondly. “You’ve given me lots of presents, Miss B. A.,—a kind friend, a keen critic, a cure-all for bad temper and impatience, and a teacher of all the fun there is in life, the real fun that doesn’t depend on ‘doing’ the other fellow in business. Besides, Miss B. A., about that tea-shop now. I’m a selfish old man. I don’t want a tea-shop, and I do want to hang on to you. I’m interested in your business theories.” He chuckled. “I want you to keep on discovering ’em. I’m glad you’re Mrs. Jim Watson”—Betty jumped at the strange new name—“but I’ll wager young Watson here doesn’t want you to settle down into just Mrs. Jim. It’ll do you good to have a tea-shop to think about sometimes. Not to worry about, mind you; the Coach and Six is on a sound business basis. And remember, Miss B. A., there’s one thing I haven’t changed about. I always did perfectly hate to be thanked.”
“Then I shan’t try,” laughed Betty. “And I shan’t let you off one of those dinners. I shall love having the tea-shops. It makes me feel less as if this was the end of Betty Wales—less as if I’d been blown out to make room for Mrs. Jim.” Betty made a funny little face at Jim, who retorted with, “Haven’t forgotten that train, have you, Mrs. Jim?”