"Dat's jes' what I'se gwine to be," he replied, and as he passed along the path, I thought I saw the corner of his coat sleeve near his eye.
The 24th of June was a royal day. The blue sky flecked with fleecy clouds sailing over us like promises; the air sweet with the mingling breath of flowers (we had multitudes of them about us). The south wind came up to us as pleasant breaths that sought our own, and the robins and blue-birds sang in the trees all day the song, "It is well." My heart echoed their music, and I moved in a dream, and when I felt Clara's fingers wandering over my hair I could not realize that her noble Louis was waiting to claim me as his wife—plain Emily Minot. But the blue-birds' "It is well" covered all these thoughts.
"Just a white dress, Emily, and violets to fasten your hair," said Clara, "which I will coax to curl for this one day."
And so, from under her hands, I came in a simple toilette of white mull, with my much-loved violets fastened at my throat and nestling among my black hair. Not a jewel save the ring that Louis had given me in the days before, and the chain, which was just one shining thread about my throat. I must have looked happy, but more than this I could not see, even though I hazarded a long, full look in Clara's mirror.
But Louis, ah! he should have stood beside a princess, I thought. It was contrast, not comparison, when I stopped to realize the difference. It was not his garb that made him regal, for he was clad in a suit of simple black with a vest and necktie of spotless white.
"A violet or two in your coat lappel?" said Clara.
"No, no, little mother; my royal rose begirt with violets will stand beside me. Put them in your own brown hair."
And he smiled, as taking them from her hand he placed them in her hair.
"Just a veil over your head, little mother; no bonnets among the wedding party."
Aunt Hildy insisted at first that she could not "parade around that church and stand up there before the minister. I'd feel like a reg'lar idiot, Louis."