Jane Lends A Hand

by Shirley Watkins

Then everyone began to clap their hands. His appearance had for the time being absorbed all interest. Granny, almost hidden behind the towering wedding cake, which had just been brought on to be cut, pulled him to her, and kissed him. Carl, looking very clean and spruce in his new suit, and snowy collar and polished shoes, shook hands with him. Elise embraced him, regardless of her silk dress, and her flowers and her veil; Hyacinth, looking abnormally solemn and important—the exuberant nature lover and enemy of civilization had miraculously vanished to give place to one of the most civilized and sedate of young men—Hyacinth shook his hand, and said something very incoherent and flowery about the pleasure and honor of meeting his distinguished cousin, and about their being in some sense, kindred spirits.

And then Paul, understanding nothing whatever, not at all sure that he was not dreaming, but feeling as happy as he was puzzled, took his place beside his uncle, to drink the health of the bride, and long life to the name of Winkler. It was nice to be there, to see all the familiar faces, to hear the familiar voices—above all it was good to have his part in this celebration of family happiness, to feel that these were his kin folk whose joys and sorrows must affect his life just as his affected theirs. But why was it that the glances that he met shone with pride? What had he done? Why were they not ashamed of him as he stood there, tattered and muddy—the very picture of the aimless, shiftless wanderer that his father had been before him? He blushed for himself, feeling vaguely that he ought not to be there, after all, that he should have resisted Jane and Mr. Lambert and gone his way. He looked around the familiar room,—above the chimneyplace hung the old, clumsily executed portrait of Great-grandfather Johann, in his snuff-colored Sunday suit—a severely pleasant-looking old man, with a constant expression of honesty and self-respect—who now seemed to gaze down placidly and commendingly upon the united gathering of his descendants. He had worked for them, had old Johann Winkler; it was his industry, his self-respect, his respect for the opinions of his fellow-citizens that had laid the foundations of their comfort and prosperity and their good standing in the community; from him had come the simple principles upon which they lived and worked together. And Paul felt, as he looked up into the painted blue eyes that old Johann would have dealt harshly with those who disregarded family responsibilities, or brought any shadow of public censure upon the name. And there, under those keen little blue eyes, he stood, ragged and disreputable-looking, and the keen little blue eyes seemed to ask him, “What does this mean, sir?” Yet, Uncle Peter had bidden him to the feast, and was even now filling the glass in front of him.

And then the toasts were drunk, and the glasses clinked, and the wedding cake was cut. And after that, Elise went up to her room to change her dress, for the sleigh was at the door, and it was high time that the bride and bridegroom should be on their way. Of peculiar interest, the fact should be chronicled that when the ascending bride tossed her bouquet over the bannisters into the midst of her maids, Dolly and Amelia, and Lily, and Annie Lee, it was Amelia who caught the nosegay!

And at last, the sleigh with its jingling bells had driven swiftly away over the snowy road. The last handful of rice had been flung; the last guest had gone, and Aunt Gertrude stood laughing and weeping over the flight of the first of her little flock—though indeed Elise and her Hyacinth were going no farther than Salisbury, and would be back in two days!

Paul and Jane stood side by side on the rice-strewn steps looking up the moonlit street.

“Mr. Daniels is building a porch on his house, isn’t he?” remarked Paul, quickly detecting the little alterations that had occurred on that familiar street since his going.

“Come in, children,” said Aunt Gertrude, “come in, my dears, and let me count you all to make sure that no more than one has run away from me!”

And when they had all gathered around her in the old dining room in the midst of the gay disorder of the wedding-feast, she made a pretense of counting them, laughing and crying at the same time.

“Here is my Jane and my Carl, and my two sleepy twinnies! That’s four—and here’s my missing fifth!” And she gave Paul an extra kiss.

Paul looked around him. Then turning to his uncle he said;