"That's all!" said Kitty, demurely. "I want to have a Real Wedding, and to ask Everybody: Savory Bite and all, Tommy!"
So she had, and so she did. Some of the neighbors thought they would wait for the return of Judge and Mrs. Peters in September: but these did not know Tom Lee. Tom sent a cable the morning after his arrival. "Marry Kitty. When? Lee." The answer flashed back: "To-morrow. Joy. Peters." So that was all right.
It was the Reallest Wedding that ever was. The day was made on purpose, of diamond and sapphire and much fine gold of June sunshine. The church—I beg its pardon! the meeting-house; the beloved white box with its beautiful spire, its square pews, its towering pulpit, its everything that a meeting-house should have—was trimmed with masses of white lilac and spiræa, till, as the Centinel said next day, it was a Palace of Purity and a Temple of Troth. Madam Flynt gave the bride away; the dear bride, more lovely in her simple white gown than words can say. The bridegroom looked like Cortez the Conqueror, Miss Croly said: "So majestic, yet so affable, my love!" There were six bridesmaids in pink muslin; I myself, the three Chanters, Lissy Wibird, who was to be married next month, and—I wonder if anybody in the world except Kitty Ross would have asked Cissy Sharpe to stand up with her! We all protested, I am rather ashamed to remember; but Kitty said Cissy was a schoolmate just as much as the rest of us, and it would be unkind to leave her out; and I am bound to say it was the making over of Cissy, who really was pathetic in her adoration of Kitty ever after.
Mr. Jordano was head usher, cloak and all, very superb; the others were Mr. Mallow and Billy and the three Chanters. I don't know which was prouder, the eldest usher, or the youngest. Each thought it preposterous for the other to figure in "such a caparison," as Mr. Mallow put it, but that did not matter. Sixty and sixteen, Kitty loved them both: loved everybody, and Tom loved them because she did. They even had qualms of conscience about Wilson Wibird: but Wilson had left town shortly before.
Miss Croly played the wedding march, shedding so many happy tears that the notes were not all exactly right, but nobody minded; the choir sang, "The Voice That Breathed": Mr. Chanter kissed the bride; it was over, and Mr. and Mrs. Thomas Lee came down the aisle, smiling greetings on either hand. Then who so glorious as John Tucker, sitting on the box of the barouche (the only one in Cyrus!) holding the reins over Dan and Pilot, who wondered why they were harnessed together, but comported themselves with perfect dignity? White cockade in his hat, white bow on his whip, white rosettes on the horses' ears, brand new white reins—who so glorious as John Tucker? Rheumatism? He never heard of such a thing!
"Don't sit too straight, John!" said Tom. "You might strain your back!"
Roars of laughter from John Tucker at this subtle jest. So, through the Street (in case anybody had not been able to get to the church; but apparently everybody had!) up the hill, round the Common in state, to the door of Ross House.
And the door was opened by Sarepta, the faithful retainer, in her best dress, with tears in her faithful eyes? Nothing of the sort! If any one thought Sarepta could bother with doors to-day—no, Jenny couldn't either! Jenny could set the door open and then set down and beat them eggs. If folks didn't know enough to come in, they could stay out. The idea!
So the door stood wide open, as indeed was its summer habit, and in came the happy pair, and after them trooped Cyrus, which had walked across the Common while they were driving round through the Street. All Cyrus! except dear Miss Anne Peace, who had whipped up the back stairs so as to be ready to "help off" in the ladies' dressing-room. Why, would any one have believed it? Savory Bite came! Tom had called on him, it afterward transpired, and told him that if he didn't come, he would find his kitchen painted green some fine morning. So here he was, to the amazement of all, in decent black, cracking his finger-joints, sidling off if any one spoke to him, but evidently enjoying himself in his way. He spent much of the time in the upper room where the presents were displayed: the most delightful presents that any one ever had, Kitty thought. Madam Flynt's emeralds were perhaps the most valuable, from a pecuniary point of view (if one excepted the jewels that Tom had been producing at intervals ever since his return) but just as precious in Kitty's eyes was the Lowestoft tea-set, hitherto the pride of "Miss Bygoods'" china cupboard; the pink lustre jug over which the Misses Caddie shed tears at parting (yet which they gave so gladly!) the unparalleled collection of "wipers," roller-towels, and dusters, all hemmed by Mr. Mallow's own hands and tied up in dozens with pink ribbons: the centrepiece which Mr. Josiah Jebus regarded as the "shay-dove" of his professional life.
"But meanwhile in the kitchen
Great deeds of arms were wrought;
There S'repta the Dictator,
And there Cheesemanius fought!"