“Hurray!” shouted one of the leaders of the strike. “May all her bairns be gells.”
“Like their moother,” shouted another.
“Hooray, lads! Gi’e her another; put your showthers into it.”
There was a deafening roar from a couple of hundred throats, and then the poor school-mistress’s arrangements were overset, for a voice shouted—
“Fling thee flowers now, bairns;” and the bride went up to the church on a floral carpet, and with a shower falling upon her from all around.
“What a shame!” cried the school-mistress, as the party disappeared through the porch, and she was carried after them by the crowd which followed.
“Niver mind, owd lass, the bairns can pick ’em up, and fling ’em again.”
Poor flowers, they looked crushed and drooping now, though, as Eve Pelly walked up the damp old aisle, feeling as if it were all some dream, and beginning to tremble now as she approached the altar, where the rest of the party were assembled, from among whom came Richard, who had cast off his supercilious air, and was trying to play his part of bridegroom as became his position.
The young fellow was flushed now with the excitement of the scene, and somewhat carried away by the interest displayed by the town on the occasion of his marriage. He hardly heeded his mother’s words as she clung to his hand for a moment, and whispered—
“You see, my son: now take your position that your father won for you, of the first man in Dumford.”