And then away—Phronsie smiling into the faces of the village people, and Roslyn, tall and handsome beside her, bowing his thanks for this tribute to her. Was there ever such a home-coming before?
“Now, if it won’t rain,” gasped Alexia, on the edge of it all, “to-morrow, O Pickering!” as they ran for their dog-cart, and drove off to “The Oaks,” by a short cut.
“Never you fear, Alexia,” said Pickering; “and if it does, nothing can spoil this Badgertown welcome. It was the finest thing possible.”
“That may be,” said Alexia; “but ‘The Oaks’ fête to-morrow—that will be absolutely perfect. Do hurry, Pickering; we must get there to see them drive up.”
And it not only did not rain on the morrow, but was another golden day for Phronsie. The arches were all up on the lawns at an early hour, and so was the marriage-bell of white orchids; while the Dunraven children were in readiness to march, to be followed by Susan’s “Welcome-Home” song. The rose-trimmed tables couldn’t take on another blossom; while as for the little brown house—well, it was a bower of roses, from the old front door clear through to the “Provision Room.”
And Phronsie, in her soft white gown trimmed with white orchids, and her tall young husband, destined to be so soon famous, moved around with old Mr. King to all the groups, welcoming and making happy every one—for it was to be an all-day fête, with music and games for the little ones, and flowers, collation, supper, and wedding-cake for everybody.
And Jasper was toast-master when everybody was seated at the long rose-trimmed tables, and right royally did he manage that ceremony. And Mr. Bunce, the first selectman, responded for the town of Badgertown, covering himself with glory; and Grandpapa responded for Phronsie right gallantly. And then she rose in her place by her husband, in the centre of the table, and Roslyn stood by her side. “I thank you all very much,” said Phronsie in a clear voice, “for all you have done for us. We shall never forget it. And we love you very much indeed, and we are glad to make our home here with you in dear old Badgertown.”
And then everybody got out of their chairs, and waved their handkerchiefs,—a white, fluttering cloud,—and tears of joy were on many cheeks; and then Roslyn May was called on for a speech, and a splendid one it was too, that all the village folk cheered mightily. And Mr. Mason Whitney and Mr. Marlowe spoke, and Ben and David, and there were many calls for Joel. And Pickering Dodge had a word or two to say; and Rev. Mr. Henderson, oh!—“it was a goodly wedding-breakfast, and,” as Alexia said, “just absolutely perfect.”
“The little children from the Dunraven Home marched around Phronsie and her husband, each giving her a white rose as they passed.”