To the extreme satisfaction of all concerned the wedding day dawned bright and beautiful—not a cloud in the sky. The ceremony was to be at noon, and the guests came pouring in shortly before that hour.
The grounds were looking their loveliest—the grass like emerald velvet bespangled with fragrant flowers of every hue, the trees laden with foliage, some of them—the oranges and magnolias in particular—bearing blossoms; the former their green and golden fruit also. Under these an arch, covered with smilax, had been erected, and from its centre hung a large bell formed of the lovely and fragrant orange blossoms; the clapper made of crimson roses. Under that the bridal party presently took their stand.
First came the three little flower girls—Elsie Dinsmore, Elsie Raymond, and Elsie Embury—dressed in white silk mull, and each carrying a basket of white roses; then the bridesmaids and groomsmen—Frank Dinsmore with Corinne Embury, Harold Travilla with Grace Raymond, Herbert Travilla and Mary Embury—the girls all dressed in white and carrying bouquets of smilax and white flowers.
Max had declined to serve on hearing that Eva could not serve with him on account of being still in mourning for her mother.
Lastly came the bride and groom, Sidney looking very charming in a white silk trimmed with abundance of costly lace, wearing a beautiful bridal veil and wreath of fresh and fragrant orange blossoms, and carrying a bouquet of the same in her hand.
The party stood underneath the arch, the bride and groom directly beneath the bell in its centre, while the guests gathered about them, the nearest relatives taking the nearest stations.
Mr. Cyril Keith was the officiating minister. It was a pretty ceremony, but short, and then the congratulations and good wishes began.
Those over, the guests were invited to seat themselves about a number of tables scattered here and there under the trees and loaded with tempting viands. The minister craved a blessing upon the food and the feast began.
An effort had been made to some extent so to seat the guests that relatives and friends would be near each other. The entire bridal party was at one table, the other young people of the connection were pretty close at hand—the older ones and their children not much farther off.
Everybody had been helped and cheery chat, mingled with some mirth, was going on, when suddenly a shrill voice, that seemed to come from the branches overhead, cried out, "What you 'bout, all you folks? Polly wants some breakfast."