How silver-sweet, indeed, sound lovers' tongues by night! But no sweeter than now in the early morning, when all the world was as young and fresh as Betsy, and as full of love and tenderness. In truth, it was the hour for a bridal. The air was full of bridal-veils: floating wreaths of silver fog that hung soft on the trees, and shimmered against the hill-sides, and here and there began to soften into golden and rosy tints as the light strengthened. They were all over the grass, too, these bridal-tokens, in tiny webs of purest spun-silver, diamond-set. A carpet of pearls was spread for Betsy's little feet, and she would never cry out, as slug-a-bed maidens do, if the pearls and diamonds wetted her shoes. Is the bride ready?
"Red as a rose is she.
Nodding their heads before her goes
The merry minstrelsy."
Hark to them now! They are tuning their instruments in every branch of the elm-tree, cheep, twitter, trill; and now they burst out in a triumphal chorus of song:—
"O Hymen, Hymenæe!"
and Betsy needs neither Mendelssohn nor Wagner to tell her what a wedding-march is. In very sooth, are there no young people beside Betsy and Bijah who know enough to be married in the early morning, and begin their first day together?
For Betsy can hold out no longer. She retires to put on the pink calico gown, because Bije will not hear of her being married in any other. It is a pity that she will put on her best hat, instead of the pretty sunbonnet; but one cannot expect a girl to be married in a "slat." She ties up her little bundle with trembling hands, while her cheeks glow and her heart beats so that she fancies Miss Bute must hear it in the room below.
Now she peeps out again, but shrinks back, afraid of the fire in the brown boy's eyes, and the passion of his outstretched arms. O Romeo! Romeo! But the whisper, "Betsy, my Betsy!" brings her out again, with a little proud, tearful smile. Yes, she is his Betsy. He is good and true; he will take care of her. She would trust all the world to Bijah.
Carefully now! The trellis is strong. (Had not Bijah tested it in the night, when she was sobbing in her sleep, to see that all was safe for her?) One foot on this round—so! Now down, slowly, carefully; take care of this step, for it is a weak one! Drop the bundle—there! Safe at last! At last! "All the world and we two," nothing else beside. As Betsy's foot touches the ground, up comes the sun to look at her. A long shaft of golden light touches her fair head, and lies like a benediction on her brow. The boy gazes at her, and sees no other sun. Ah, Juliet! if the measure of thy joy be heap'd like mine, and that thy skill be more to blazon it, then sweeten with thy breath this neighbor air, and let rich music's tongue unfold the imagin'd happiness that both receive in either by this dear encounter. Call softly, though, softly, so as not to wake the old ladies: "Co'boss! Co'boss!" Push the mossy gate, and let the good, silent creatures out, the confidants of our love these many weeks. Come, sweet Capulet! Come, Betsy, and let us drive the cows to pasture!