“Oh, Miss Harlowe,” cried Anna May, when she and Elizabeth were safely settled in the carriage, one of them on the seat beside Grace, the other on the opposite side with Anne, “this is about the happiest day Elizabeth and I ever had. I do hope I won’t be scared. Just think, we have to walk into that great big church, the very first ones, with all those people looking at us.”
“I’m not the least bit scared,” was Elizabeth’s bold declaration. “Nobody is going to hurt us. Why, all the people are Miss Anne’s friends! I’m going to think that when I walk up the aisle, and I shan’t be a bit scared. I know I shan’t.”
“Well, I’m not exactly scared,” asserted Anna May, greatly impressed with Elizabeth’s valiant declaration. “I guess I’ll think that, too.”
“Oh, Miss Anne, you look too sweet for anything.” Elizabeth clasped her small hands in rapture. “When I grow up I shall certainly be married, and have a dress like yours, and just the same kind of a bouquet, and be married in the church where every one can see me.”
“You can’t get married unless some one asks you,” informed Anna May wisely.
“Some one will,” predicted Elizabeth. “Won’t they, Miss Harlowe?”
“I haven’t the least doubt of it,” was Grace’s laughing assurance. “Still I wouldn’t worry about it for a good many years yet, if I were you. It’s just as nice to be a little girl and play games and dress dolls.”
Anne smiled faintly. Grace was again unconsciously voicing her views on the marriage question.
The two little flower girls kept up a lively conversation during the ride. They were divided between the fear of facing a church full of people and the rapture of being really, truly flower girls at the wedding of such a wonderful person as their Miss Anne.
It was precisely half-past seven o’clock when two tiny flower maidens, their childish faces grave with the importance of their office, walked sedately down the broad church aisle toward the flower-wreathed altar. Following them came a dazzling vision in gold tissue that caused at least one’s man’s heart to beat faster. To Everett Southard Miriam was indeed the fabled fairy-tale princess. Then came the bride, feeling strangely humble and diffident in this new part she had essayed to play, while behind her, single file, in faithful attendance, walked the three girls who had kept perfect step with her through the eventful years of her school life.