The arrival of the morning boat with letters and newspapers from the East was the great event of the day in Burnet. It was due at eleven o'clock; and everybody, consciously or unconsciously, was on the lookout1 for it. The gentlemen were at the office bright and early, and stood chatting with each other, and fingering the keys of their little drawers till the rattle2 of the shutter3 announced that the mail was distributed. Their wives and daughters at home, meanwhile, were equally in a state of expectation, and whatever they might be doing kept ears and eyes on the alert for the step on the gravel4 and the click of the latch5 which betokened6 the arrival of the family news-bringer.
Doctors cannot command their time like other people, and Dr. Carr was often detained by his patients, and made late for the mail, so it was all the pleasanter a surprise when on the great day of the cake-baking he came in earlier than usual, with his hands quite full of letters and parcels. All the girls made a rush for him at once; but he fended7 them off with an elbow, while with teasing slowness he read the addresses on the envelopes.
"Miss Carr—Miss Carr—Miss Katherine Carr—Miss Carr again; four for you, Katy. Dr. P. Carr,—a bill and a newspaper, I perceive; all that an old country doctor with a daughter about to be married ought to expect, I suppose. Miss Clover E. Carr,—one for the 'Confidante in white linen8.' Here, take it, Clovy. Miss Carr again. Katy, you have the lion's share. Miss Joanna Carr,—in the unmistakable handwriting of Miss Inches. Miss Katherine Carr, care Dr. Carr. That looks like a wedding present, Katy. Miss Elsie Carr; Cecy's hand, I should say. Miss Carr once more,—from the conquering hero, judging from the post-mark. Dr. Carr,—another newspaper, and—hollo!—one more for Miss Carr. Well, children, I hope for once you are satisfied with the amount of your correspondence. My arm fairly aches with the weight of it. I hope the letters are not so heavy inside as out."
"I am quite satisfied, Papa, thank you," said Katy, looking up with a happy smile from Ned's letter, which she had torn open first of all. "Are you going, dear?" She laid her packages down to help him on with his coat. Katy never forgot her father.
"Yes, I am going. Time and rheumatism9 wait for no man. You can tell me your news when I come back."
It is not fair to peep into love letters, so I will only say of Ned's that it was very long, very entertaining,—Katy thought,—and contained the pleasant information that the "Natchitoches" was to sail four days after it was posted, and would reach New York a week sooner than any one had dared to hope. The letter contained several other things as well, which showed Katy how continually she had been in his thoughts,—a painting on rice paper, a dried flower or two, a couple of little pen-and-ink sketches10 of the harbor of Santa Lucia and the shipping11, and a small cravat12 of an odd convent lace folded very flat and smooth. Altogether it was a delightful13 letter, and Katy read it, as it were, in leaps, her eyes catching14 at the salient points, and leaving the details to be dwelt upon when she should be alone.
This done, she thrust the letter into her pocket, and proceeded to examine the others. The first was in Cousin Helen's clear, beautiful handwriting:—
DEAR KATY,—If any one had told us ten years ago that in this particular year of grace you would be getting ready to be married, and I preparing to come to your wedding, I think we should have listened with some incredulity, as to an agreeable fairy tale which could not possibly come true. We didn't look much like it, did we,—you in your big chair and I on my sofa? Yet here we are! When your letter first reached me it seemed a sort of impossible thing that I should accept your invitation; but the more I thought about it the more I felt as if I must, and now things seem to be working round to that end quite marvellously. I have had a good winter, but the doctor wishes me to try the experiment of the water cure again which benefited me so much the summer of your accident. This brings me in your direction; and I don't see why I might not come a little earlier than I otherwise should, and have the great pleasure of seeing you married, and making acquaintance with Lieutenant15 Worthington. That is, if you are perfectly16 sure that to have at so busy a time a guest who, like the Queen of Spain, has the disadvantage of being without legs, will not be more care than enjoyment17. Think seriously over this point, and don't send for me unless you are certain. Meanwhile, I am making ready. Alex and Emma and little Helen—who is a pretty big Helen now—are to be my escorts as far as Buffalo18 on their way to Niagara. After that is all plain sailing, and Jane Carter and I can manage very well for ourselves. It seems like a dream to think that I may see you all so soon; but it is such a pleasant one that I would not wake up on any account.
I have a little gift which I shall bring you myself, my Katy; but I have a fancy also that you shall wear some trifling19 thing on your wedding-day which comes from me, so for fear of being forestalled20 I will say now, please don't buy any stockings for the occasion, but wear the pair which go with this, for the sake of your loving
Cousin Helen.
"These must be they," cried Elsie, pouncing21 on one of the little packages. "May I cut the string, Katy?"
Permission was granted; and Elsie cut the string. It was indeed a pair of beautiful white silk stockings embroidered22 in an open pattern, and far finer than anything which Katy would have thought of choosing for herself.
"Don't they look exactly like Cousin Helen?" she said, fondling them. "Her things always are choicer and prettier than anybody's else, somehow. I can't think how she does it, when she never by any chance goes into a shop. Who can this be from, I wonder?"
"This" was the second little package. It proved to contain a small volume bound in white and gold, entitled, "Advice to Brides." On the fly-leaf appeared this inscription:—
To Katherine Carr, on the occasion of her approaching bridal, from her affectionate teacher,
Marianne Nipson.
1 Timothy, ii. 11.
Clover at once ran to fetch her Testament24 that she might verify the quotation25, and announced with a shriek26 of laughter that it was: "Let the women learn in silence with all subjection;" while Katy, much diverted, read extracts casually27 selected from the work, such as: "A wife should receive her husband's decree without cavil28 or question, remembering that the husband is the head of the wife, and that in all matters of dispute his opinion naturally and scripturally outweighs29 her own."
Or: "'A soft answer turneth away wrath30.' If your husband comes home fretted31 and impatient, do not answer him sharply, but soothe32 him with gentle words and caresses34. Strict attention to the minor35 details of domestic management will often avail to secure peace."
And again: "Keep in mind the epitaph raised in honor of an exemplary wife of the last century,—'She never banged the door.' Qualify yourself for a similar testimonial."
"Tanta never does bang doors," remarked Amy, who had come in as this last "elegant extract" was being read.
"No, that's true; she doesn't," said Clover. "Her prevailing36 vice23 is to leave them open. I like that truth about a good dinner 'availing' to secure peace, and the advice to 'caress33' your bear when he is at his crossest. Ned never does issue 'decrees,' though, I fancy; and on the whole, Katy, I don't believe Mrs. Nipson's present is going to be any particular comfort in your future trials. Do read something else to take the taste out of our mouths. We will listen in 'all subjection.'"
Katy was already deep in a long epistle from Rose.
"This is too delicious," she said; "do listen." And she began again at the beginning:—
My Sweetest of all old Sweets,—Come to your wedding! Of course I shall. It would never seem to me to have any legal sanction whatever if I were not there to add my blessing38. Only let me know which day "early in June" it is to be, that I may make ready. Deniston will fetch us on, and by a special piece of good luck, a man in Chicago—whose name I shall always bless if only I can remember what it is—has been instigated39 by our mutual40 good angel to want him on business just about that time; so that he would have to go West anyway, and would rather have me along than not, and is perfectly resigned to his fate. I mean to come three days before, and stay three days after the wedding, if I may, and altogether it is going to be a lark41 of larks42. Little Rose can talk quite fluently now, and almost read; that is, she knows six letters of her picture alphabet. She composes poems also. The other day she suddenly announced,—
"Mamma, I have made up a sort of a im. May I say it to you?"
I naturally consented, and this was the
IM.
Jump in the hall,
God made us all!
Now did you ever hear of anything quite so dear as that, for a baby only three years and five months old? I tell you she is a wonder. You will all adore her, Clover particularly. Oh, my dear little C.! To think I am going to see her!
I met both Ellen Gray and Esther Dearborn the other day, and where do you think it was? At Mary Silver's wedding! Yes, she is actually married to the Rev37. Charles Playfair Strothers, and settled in a little parsonage somewhere in the Hoosac Tunnel,—or near it,—and already immersed in "duties." I can't think what arguments he used to screw her up to the rash act; but there she is.
It wasn't exactly what one would call a cheerful wedding. All the connection took it very seriously; and Mary's uncle, who married her, preached quite a lengthy44 funeral discourse45 to the young couple, and got them nicely ready for death, burial, and the next world, before he would consent to unite them for this. He was a solemn-looking old person, who had been a missionary46, and "had laid away three dear wives in foreign lands," as he confided47 to me afterward48 over a plate of ice-cream. He seemed to me to be "taking notice," as they say of babies, and it is barely possible that he mistook me for a single woman, for his attentions were rather pronounced till I introduced my husband prominently into conversation; after that he seemed more attracted by Ellen Gray.
Mary cried straight through the ceremony. In fact, I imagine she cried straight through the engagement, for her eyes looked wept out and had scarlet49 rims50, and she was as white as her veil. In fact, whiter, for that was made of beautiful point de Venise, and was just a trifle yellowish. Everybody cried. Her mother and sister sobbed51 aloud, so did several maiden52 aunts and a grandmother or two and a few cousins. The church resounded53 with guggles and gasps54, like a great deal of bath-water running out of an ill-constructed tub. Mr. Silver also wept, as a business man may, in a series of sniffs55 interspersed56 with silk handkerchief; you know the kind. Altogether it was a most cheerless affair. I seemed to be the only person present who was not in tears; but I really didn't see anything to cry about, so far as I was concerned, though I felt very hard-hearted.
I had to go alone, for Deniston was in New York. I got to the church rather early, and my new spring bonnet—which is a superior one—seemed to impress the ushers57, so they put me in a very distinguished58 front pew all by myself. I bore my honors meekly59, and found them quite agreeable, in fact,—you know I always did like to be made much of,—so you can imagine my disgust when presently three of the stoutest60 ladies you ever saw came sailing up the aisle61, and prepared to invade my pew.
"Please move up, Madam," said the fattest of all, who wore a wonderful yellow hat.
But I was not "raised" at Hillsover for nothing, and remembering the success of our little ruse62 on the railroad train long ago, I stepped out into the aisle, and with my sweetest smile made room for them to pass.
"Perhaps I would better keep the seat next the door," I murmured to the yellow lady, "in case an attack should come on."
"An attack!" she repeated in an accent of alarm. She whispered to the others. All three eyed me suspiciously, while I stood looking as pensive63 and suffering as I could. Then after confabulating together for a little, they all swept into the seat behind mine, and I heard them speculating in low tones as to whether it was epilepsy or catalepsy or convulsions that I was subject to. I presume they made signs to all the other people who came in to steer64 clear of the lady with fits, for nobody invaded my privacy, and I sat in lonely splendor65 with a pew to myself, and was very comfortable indeed.
Mary's dress was white satin, with a great deal of point lace and pearl passementerie, and she wore a pair of diamond ear-rings which her father gave her, and a bouquet66 almost but not quite as large, which was the gift of the bridegroom. He has a nice face, and I think Silvery Mary will be happy with him, much happier than with her rather dismal67 family, though his salary is only fifteen hundred a year, and pearl passementerie, I believe, quite unknown and useless in the Hoosac region. She had loads of the most beautiful presents you ever saw. All the Silvers are rolling in riches, you know. One little thing made me laugh, for it was so like her. When the clergyman said, "Mary, wilt68 thou take this man to be thy wedded69 husband?" I distinctly saw her put her fingers over her mouth in the old, frightened way. It was only for a second, and after that I rather think Mr. Strothers held her hand tight for fear she might do it again. She sent her love to you, Katy. What sort of a gown are you going to have, by the way?
I have kept my best news to the last, which is that Deniston has at last given way, and we are to move into town in October. We have taken a little house in West Cedar70 Street. It is quite small and very dingy71 and I presume inconvenient72, but I already love it to distraction73, and feel as if I should sit up all night for the first month to enjoy the sensation of being no longer that horrid74 thing, a resident of the suburbs. I hunt the paper shops and collect samples of odd and occult pattern, and compare them with carpets, and am altogether in my element, only longing75 for the time to come when I may put together my pots and pans and betake me across the mill-dam. Meantime, Roslein is living in a state of quarantine. She is not permitted to speak with any other children, or even to look out of window at one, for fear she may contract some sort of contagious76 disease, and spoil our beautiful visit to Burnet. She sends you a kiss, and so do I; and mother and Sylvia and Deniston and grandmamma, particularly, desire their love.
Your loving
Rose Red.
"Oh," cried Clover, catching Katy round the waist, and waltzing wildly about the room, "what a delicious letter! What fun we are going to have! It seems too good to be true. Tum-ti-ti, tum-ti-ti. Keep step, Katy. I forgive you for the first time for getting married. I never did before, really and truly. Tum-ti-ti; I am so happy that I must dance!"
"There go my letters," said Katy, as with the last rapid twirl, Rose's many-sheeted epistle and the "Advice to Brides" flew to right and left. "There go two of your hair-pins, Clover. Oh, do stop; we shall all be in pieces."
Clover brought her gyrations to a close by landing her unwilling77 partner suddenly on the sofa. Then with a last squeeze and a rapid kiss she began to pick up the scattered78 letters.
"Now read the rest," she commanded, "though anything else will sound flat after Rose's."
"Hear this first," said Elsie, who had taken advantage of the pause to open her own letter. "It is from Cecy, and she says she is coming to spend a month with her mother on purpose to be here for Katy's wedding. She sends heaps of love to you, Katy, and says she only hopes that Mr. Worthington will prove as perfectly satisfactory in all respects as her own dear Sylvester."
"My gracious, I should hope he would," put in Clover, who was still in the wildest spirits. "What a dear old goose Cecy is! I never hankered in the least for Sylvester Slack, did you, Katy?"
"Certainly not. It would be a most improper79 proceeding80 if I had," replied Katy, with a laugh. "Whom do you think this letter is from, girls? Do listen to it. It's written by that nice old Mr. Allen Beach, whom we met in London. Don't you recollect81 my telling you about him?"
My dear Miss Carr,—Our friends in Harley Street have told me a piece of news concerning you which came to them lately in a letter from Mrs. Ashe, and I hope you will permit me to offer you my most sincere congratulations and good wishes. I recollect meeting Lieutenant Worthington when he was here two years ago, and liking82 him very much. One is always glad in a foreign land to be able to show so good a specimen83 of one's young countrymen as he affords,—not that England need be counted as a foreign country by any American, and least of all by myself, who have found it a true home for so many years.
As a little souvenir of our week of sight-seeing together, of which I retain most agreeable remembrances, I have sent you by my friends the Sawyers, who sail for America shortly, a copy of Hare's "Walks in London," which a young protégée of mine has for the past year been illustrating84 with photographs of the many curious old buildings described. You took so much interest in them while here that I hope you may like to see them again. Will you please accept with it my most cordial wishes for your future, and believe me
Very faithfully your friend,
Allen Beach.
"What a nice letter!" said Clover.
"Isn't it?" replied Katy, with shining eyes, "what a thing it is to be a gentleman, and to know how to say and do things in the right way! I am so surprised and pleased that Mr. Beach should remember me. I never supposed he would, he sees so many people in London all the time, and it is quite a long time since we were there, nearly two years. Was your letter from Miss Inches, John?"
"Yes, and Mamma Marian sends you her love; and there's a present coming by express for you,—some sort of a book with a hard name. I can scarcely make it out, the Ru—ru—something of Omar Kay—y—Well, anyway it's a book, and she hopes you will read Emerson's 'Essay on Friendship' over before you are married, because it's a helpful utterance85, and adjusts the mind to mutual conditions."
"Worse than 1 Timothy, ii. 11," muttered Clover. "Well, Katy dear, what next? What are you laughing at?"
"You will never guess, I am sure. This is a letter from Miss Jane! And she has made me this pincushion!"
The pincushion was of a familiar type, two circles of pasteboard covered with gray silk, neatly86 over-handed together, and stuck with a row of closely fitting pins. Miss Jane's note ran as follows:—
Hillsover, April 21.
Dear Katy,—I hear from Mrs. Nipson that you are to be married shortly, and I want to say that you have my best wishes for your future. I think a man ought to be happy who has you for a wife. I only hope the one you have chosen is worthy87 of you. Probably he isn't, but perhaps you won't find it out. Life is a knotty88 problem for most of us. May you solve it satisfactorily to yourself and others! I have nothing to send but my good wishes and a few pins. They are not an unlucky present, I believe, as scissors are said to be.
Remember me to your sister, and believe me to be with true regard,
Yours, Jane A. Bangs.
"Dear me, is that her name?" cried Clover. "I always supposed she was baptized 'Miss Jane.' It never occurred to me that she had any other title. What appropriate initials! How she used to J.A.B. with us!"
"Now, Clovy, that's not kind. It's a very nice note indeed, and I am touched by it. It's a beautiful compliment to say that the man ought to be happy who has got me, I think. I never supposed that Miss Jane could pay a compliment."
"Or make a joke! That touch about the scissors is really jocose,—for Miss Jane. Rose Red will shriek over the letter and that particularly rigid89 pincushion. They are both of them so exactly like her. Dear me! only one letter left. Who is that from, Katy? How fast one does eat up one's pleasures!"
"No, for it contains a secret which you are not to hear just yet," replied Clover. "Brides mustn't ask questions. Go on with yours."
"Mine is from Louisa Agnew,—quite a long one, too. It's an age since we heard from her, you know."
Ashburn, April 24.
Dear Katy,—Your delightful letter and invitation came day before yesterday, and thank you for both. There is nothing in the world that would please me better than to come to your wedding if it were possible, but it simply isn't. If you lived in New Haven now, or even Boston,—but Burnet is so dreadfully far off, it seems as inaccessible91 as Kamchatka to a person who, like myself, has a house to keep and two babies to take care of.
Don't look so alarmed. The house is the same house you saw when you were here, and so is one of the babies; the other is a new acquisition just two years old, and as great a darling as Daisy was at the same age. My mother has been really better in health since he came, but just now she is at a sort of Rest Cure in Kentucky; and I have my hands full with papa and the children, as you can imagine, so I can't go off two days' journey to a wedding,—not even to yours, my dearest old Katy. I shall think about you all day long on the day, when I know which it is, and try to imagine just how everything looks; and yet I don't find that quite easy, for somehow I fancy that your wedding will be a little different from the common run. You always were different from other people to me, you know,—you and Clover,—and I love you so much, and I always shall.
Papa has taken a kit-kat portrait of me in oils,—and a blue dress,—which he thinks is like, and which I am going to send you as soon as it comes home from the framers. I hope you will like it a little for my sake. Dear Katy, I send so much love with it.
I have only seen the Pages in the street since they came home from Europe; but the last piece of news here is Lilly's engagement to Comte Ernest de Conflans. He has something to do with the French legation in Washington, I believe; and they crossed in the same steamer. I saw him driving with her the other day,—a little man, not handsome, and very dark. I do not know when they are to be married. Your Cousin Clarence is in Colorado.
With two kisses apiece and a great hug for you, Katy, I am always
Your affectionate friend,
Louisa.
"Dear me!" said the insatiable Clover, "is that the very last? I wish we had another mail, and twelve more letters coming in at once. What a blessed institution the post-office is!"
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1
lookout
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| n.注意，前途，瞭望台 | |
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rattle
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shutter
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gravel
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| n.砂跞；砂砾层；结石 | |
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latch
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| n.门闩，窗闩；弹簧锁 | |
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betokened
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| v.预示，表示( betoken的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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fended
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| v.独立生活，照料自己( fend的过去式和过去分词 )；挡开，避开 | |
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linen
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rheumatism
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sketches
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shipping
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cravat
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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lieutenant
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| n.陆军中尉，海军上尉；代理官员，副职官员 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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buffalo
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| n.(北美)野牛；(亚洲)水牛 | |
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trifling
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| adj.微不足道的；没什么价值的 | |
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forestalled
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pouncing
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embroidered
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vice
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testament
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quotation
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shriek
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casually
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cavil
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outweighs
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wrath
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fretted
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soothe
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caress
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caresses
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minor
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prevailing
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rev
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blessing
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instigated
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| v.使（某事物）开始或发生，鼓动( instigate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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41
lark
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| n.云雀，百灵鸟；n.嬉戏，玩笑；vi.嬉戏 | |
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larks
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| n.百灵科鸟（尤指云雀）( lark的名词复数 )；一大早就起床；鸡鸣即起；（因太费力而不想干时说）算了v.百灵科鸟（尤指云雀）( lark的第三人称单数 )；一大早就起床；鸡鸣即起；（因太费力而不想干时说）算了 | |
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43
parlor
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| n.店铺，营业室；会客室，客厅 | |
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lengthy
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| adj.漫长的，冗长的 | |
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discourse
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| n.论文，演说；谈话；话语；vi.讲述，著述 | |
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missionary
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| adj.教会的，传教(士)的；n.传教士 | |
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confided
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| v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的过去式和过去分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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rims
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| n.（圆形物体的）边( rim的名词复数 )；缘；轮辋；轮圈 | |
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51
sobbed
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| 哭泣，啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 )； 哭诉，呜咽地说 | |
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maiden
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| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
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resounded
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| v.（指声音等）回荡于某处( resound的过去式和过去分词 )；产生回响；（指某处）回荡着声音 | |
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54
gasps
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| v.喘气( gasp的第三人称单数 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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sniffs
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| v.以鼻吸气，嗅，闻( sniff的第三人称单数 )；抽鼻子（尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气）；抱怨，不以为然地说 | |
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interspersed
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| adj.[医]散开的；点缀的v.intersperse的过去式和过去分词 | |
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ushers
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| n.引座员( usher的名词复数 )；招待员；门房；助理教员v.引，领，陪同( usher的第三人称单数 ) | |
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distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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meekly
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| adv.温顺地，逆来顺受地 | |
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stoutest
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| 粗壮的( stout的最高级 )； 结实的； 坚固的； 坚定的 | |
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aisle
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| n.（教堂、教室、戏院等里的）过道，通道 | |
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ruse
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| n.诡计，计策；诡计 | |
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pensive
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| a.沉思的,哀思的,忧沉的 | |
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steer
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| vt.驾驶，为…操舵；引导；vi.驾驶 | |
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splendor
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| n.光彩；壮丽，华丽；显赫，辉煌 | |
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bouquet
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| n.花束，酒香 | |
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dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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wilt
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| v.(使)植物凋谢或枯萎；(指人)疲倦，衰弱 | |
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wedded
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| adj.正式结婚的；渴望…的，执著于…的v.嫁，娶，（与…）结婚( wed的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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cedar
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| n.雪松，香柏(木) | |
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dingy
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| adj.昏暗的，肮脏的 | |
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inconvenient
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| adj.不方便的，令人感到麻烦的 | |
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distraction
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| n.精神涣散，精神不集中，消遣，娱乐 | |
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horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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contagious
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| adj.传染性的，有感染力的 | |
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unwilling
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| adj.不情愿的 | |
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scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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improper
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| adj.不适当的，不合适的，不正确的，不合礼仪的 | |
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proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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81
recollect
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| v.回忆，想起，记起，忆起，记得 | |
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82
liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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83
specimen
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| n.样本，标本 | |
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84
illustrating
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| 给…加插图( illustrate的现在分词 )； 说明； 表明； （用示例、图画等）说明 | |
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85
utterance
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| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
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86
neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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88
knotty
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| adj.有结的，多节的，多瘤的，棘手的 | |
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89
rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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haven
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| n.安全的地方，避难所，庇护所 | |
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91
inaccessible
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| adj.达不到的，难接近的 | |
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