“Why, were you friends then?” asked Allan Bennett.
“Well, that day made us friends,” answered Colonel Anderson, “and this was the way it happened. Everything was ready for the wedding. As many of the guests as it would hold were assembled in the drawing-room, the room on the left of the front door there as you go in, but the clergyman had not arrived. Then it was that Mr. Custis, beginning to grow nervous, called to Joe there, who stood on the porch, as fine as silk in his best clothes and white cotton gloves, ready to open the carriage doors for the guests as they arrived.
“‘Joe,’ called Mr. Custis, ‘run down the road, and see if you see a sign of a carriage anywhere in sight,’ and, children, what do you suppose Joe did? Well, he just stood stock still, looking down at his bright polished boots, and he never budged an inch.”
“It’s de truf,” said Joe, shaking his head regretfully, for the children were looking to him for confirmation of the story.
“You see the boots were very shiny,” continued the Colonel, in a tone of apology for Joe, “and the roads were very very muddy, so that he just couldn’t bring himself to do it. Fortunately for Joe, I imagine, Mr. Custis had not waited to see him start, taking for granted, of course, that he would obey at once, and then what did I do but spring down the steps and run on Joe’s errand for him, only too thankful if I could do anything to prove my gratitude for being allowed to be present at that, to me, greatest of occasions. I had to wait less than five minutes before I discovered the open chaise, which had been sent into Washington to bring the dominie, tearing up the road.
“‘They’re coming, they’ll be here in a minute,’ I called, hurrying back to Joe, and then he rushed away in his new shiny boots and delivered my message to Mr. Custis, pretending, as the rogue confessed to me afterward, to be quite out of breath from the haste with which he had come. And then in the next moment Mr. Meade, for that was the clergyman’s name, was really there, but he came in at the back door and slipped upstairs as quickly as he could, followed by Joe and myself. You see he had driven right into the heart of a heavy thunder shower, just outside of Washington, and was drenched to the skin. There was nothing for it but that he must make a change of clothing as quickly as he could, so Joe, who knew where Mr. Custis kept his clothes, ran hither and thither, bringing one article after another, and I helped the minister into them—but my, how he did look! Mr. Custis was short and stout, and Mr. Meade was tall and thin, and I didn’t see how any one could keep their faces straight with such a guy of a minister. They couldn’t have done it either, if they had seen how he looked, could they, Joe?”
“No, Colonel, not for a minute,” chuckled Joe. "But why didn’t they see?” questioned eager little Allan.
“Why, because, of course, he had brought his gown with him, and it covered him all up,” for Brevet, able to anticipate much of the familiar story, was glad to have a hand in its telling.
“I wish you could know how the house looked in those days,” said the Colonel with a sigh of regret, echoed by a much louder and deeper sigh on the part of Joe. “It was full of the most beautiful things. There was a magnificent array of old family portraits; among them two or three of George and Martha Washington. Then there was a marvelous old sideboard that held many beautiful things that had belonged to Washington. I remember in particular some great silver candlesticks with snuffers and extinguishers, and silver wine-coolers, and some exquisite painted china, part of a set that had been given to Washington by the Society of the Cincinnati.”
“I do not think you have told the children,” interrupted Grandma Ellis, “who it was that Miss Custis married.”