CHAPTER XXII
A JULY WEDDING
Peggy's brother Dick had parodied an old rhyme to fit the occasion and sang it with gusto, in season and out of season. It was Dick's voice, caroling in a high falsetto, and breaking ludicrously on an average of once a line, that woke Peggy on the most eventful morning of her life.
"A wedding day in May
Is worth a load of hay.
A wedding set for June
Is worth a silver spoon.
A wedding in July
Isn't worth a fly."
Peggy winked hard and sat up in bed, turning instantly toward the east windows. "Oh," she cried joyously, "what a glorious day!" And so indeed it was. Apparently the weather man had carefully selected whatever was best in all the year, and combined his selections into one perfect day in honor of Peggy's wedding. There had been a little rain the night before, and the air was as sweet as if perfumed by June's roses. There was a freshness that suggested early spring, and something in the breeze as exhilarating as October. Peggy reflected complacently that this was just her luck.
She wondered, as she dressed, what she was to do with herself between the hours of eight and six. Her trunk was packed for going away, and the other trunks were ready except for a few articles to be added at the last minute. She had acknowledged every gift she had received. The dressmaker was through with her, and the wedding dress was hanging in Peggy's closet, with a sheet draped over it that no speck of dust should mar its immaculate whiteness. Peggy decided that her wedding day was to be characterized by elegant leisure.
Of course this expectation was not realized. To begin with, there were more presents. They came by parcels post and by express. Deliverymen handed them over as nonchalantly as if they had been ordinary purchases. Others came by special messengers, who grinned knowingly when Peggy signed for them. Breakfast was hardly over when it was necessary to send for Graham, that he might assist in opening the packages. But Graham was not as satisfactory in opening packages as a number of other people, Priscilla and Amy, for instance. If Peggy cried "Isn't that beautiful?" he always looked straight at her as he said "yes," and then it was necessary to remind him that he was supposed to be admiring a piece of silverware or glass. Peggy always said, "How beautiful!" when a package was opened. And then if the article were something she really wanted, she would add, "Isn't it lucky, Graham, that some one thought of that? I don't see how we could have kept house without it." And if it were something quite unsuitable she would cry, "How kind everybody is. I never saw anything like it."
The present from Peggy's college class came the morning of the wedding day, when it was practically certain that no one was to be married in advance of Peggy. It was a very attractive silver vase, with the class motto engraved about its base. Peggy's delight was marred by one characteristic reflection. "I have so many things. It's almost a pity this didn't go to some girl whose friends weren't so generous."
"Any one could have had it," Graham reminded her, "who was ready to take the risk. This is in recognition of your courage, like the Victoria Cross."