Cuthbert looked at me, and began to whistle—that clear birdlike whistle of his, that no one could help listening to. I saw Mistress Dorothy turn round and look up towards him with a smile.
'Over the hills and far away,' he whistled gaily, and the birds sang the chorus, and the sun shone. Master Caleb and Dorothy went rambling in and out through shade and sunshine. I could not help thinking what a pleasant thing life was.
And next came the wedding day.
It was to be a very quiet one, because the little bride was still grieving for the kind old father who was not there to give her his blessing. So everybody kept on repeating that it must be quite quiet. That is to say, no one was to go to the church who could by any possibility be persuaded to stay away. But unluckily nobody could be so persuaded. Master Caleb belonged to all of us. No one—certainly not Dorothy—would have wished that the scholars, who had suddenly found out how fond they were of him, should not go to his wedding. They forgave him on that day all his strange love for three-syllabled words, and sums in Long Division. They forgot how hardly he had often used them in respect to learning things by heart, and only strove who could shout himself the most hoarse in his honour.
All the village was waiting round the porch long before the wedding party came out of church. How the sun shone that morning! What merry peals the bells sent out upon the golden air! How cheer after cheer rang forth, as Master Caleb, in such a coat, such black silk stockings, such shoe-buckles as Wyncliffe had never before dreamt of, came out bareheaded into the sunshine, from the deep shade of the porch, and led his bride by the hand all through the shouting crowd! The village girls, with Hildred at their head, showered baskets-full of red roses before Mistress Dorothy as she walked!
Master Caleb could get out nothing but 'I thank you, friends, I thank you;' and Dorothy held out both hands, right and left, to meet the eager ones stretched out to greet her.
Then we young ones climbed up trees and stood on the top of walls to give them one cheer more, as they drove off to Furzy Nook, and the old folk called down blessings on the sweet face that was bright with smiles and tears.
Another cheer when the bride, God bless her, waved her handkerchief to us just before they turned the corner. Another, when Farmer Foster bade all there come down to Furzy Nook to drink her health. Yet one more, a hearty one, for Mrs. Janet, arm-in-arm with the farmer; and then, again and again, for the old schoolhouse and its master. Thus we welcomed Mistress Morton home to Wyncliffe.
O little feet! that such long years
Must wander on through hopes and fears—
Must ache and bleed beneath your load;
I, nearer to the wayside inn,
Where toil shall cease and rest begin,
Am weary thinking of your road!
Longfellow.
Wandering Willie paused. The clock struck. The outer door of the farm-house kitchen opened. A gust of snowy wind rushed in, and the farmer followed, after stopping to shake the snow from his hat, and to stamp it off his long boots in the porch.