The Wyndham Girls

by Marion Ames Taggart

  CHAPTER XVII

  THE LADY OF THE SCALES

  While Phyllis was climbing the steep hill of fame by the path of herlittle stories, events in her home were not at a standstill.

  The pleasantest and most tangible thing that had happened was thatJessamy had been asked by the editor of the magazine which had boughther illustrations and Phyllis's two stories, to illustrate for himother work besides that done by her cousin.

  Jessamy was very busy and happy during these days. She was blossomingout into fuller, more perfect beauty; her eyes were alight as with asecret joy, her smile grew every day sweeter and more lingering; in aword, Jessamy was leaving the last shadow of that mysterious valley ofyoung maidenhood, and passing into the full sunshine of womanhood. Itwas two years since the trouble, which was every day less of a regretto the Wyndhams, had come to them; or, it would be two years when Mayrolled around again, and it was then March. Jessamy and Phyllis weretwenty; they had a right to enter upon their kingdom. Barbara, too, atnineteen and engaged, was grown up. Mrs. Wyndham, with the gratitude ofa mother who had brought her children safely through the development ofcharacter into sweet and good women, yet with the regret of a motherin losing her little girls, realized that her three little maids werelittle no longer.

  It was March, and the season was forward after the heavy snows of thewinter. The song-sparrow was lilting in the park, the twigs and budswere showing red and swelling on many trees and shrubs.

  There had been, of late, mystery in the atmosphere of the littleapartment, from share in which Mrs. Wyndham felt herself excluded.Evidently the girls were in a conspiracy of some sort; but their motherdid not give the matter much thought, knowing that when they were readythey would confide in her, and feeling quite certain if she were nottold it was because the plan worked better for her in ignorance of it.

  Robert Lane came and went frequently, and Mrs. Wyndham watched him withthe jealousy of a strong suspicion that he was finding her beautifulelder daughter attractive. But, watch as she would, she could notdiscover anything in the young lawyer which did not make her likehim better as she grew to know him well. Jessamy and he--indeed, allthree girls and he--seemed to have an understanding which Mrs. Wyndhamlearned to associate with the secret in the air; but she could notdetermine whether Jessamy was growing to care for Robert in the way hewas unmistakably learning to care for her. Mrs. Wyndham's watchfulnessof Jessamy was divided with Phyllis. Alan haunted the apartment, andthere was no mistaking the dumb affection for Phyllis in his eyes, asfaithful as a dog's, and less reticent of speech than his newly silenttongue. Phyllis, happy, busy, interested to try her powers, showed nofeeling for Alan beyond the frank friendliness she gave all their youngmen friends impartially, Tom, Robert, and David, and to distant RickDean, whose letters grew constantly more frequent and warmer in tone.Mrs. Wyndham began to wonder if Phyllis were the sort of girl who is socordially kindly to all boys that no especial one becomes important toher. She felt sure that if, by and by, her niece could not return toAlan all that he was pouring out on her, it would be more tragic to theloyal-hearted and earnest young journalist than unrequited affection islikely to be to youths of his age.

  However, girls were proverbially uncertain and hard to read. Mrs.Wyndham was too wise to worry over a contingency not yet arisen. Shesaw with pleasure that David Campbell was finding little Ruth decidedlyto his liking. There could not have been a better happening for themboth. David was an earnest, honest, manly boy, and Ruth would bethe very best little housewife a man could ask. Mrs. Wyndham hopedthat nothing would divert the course of the romance dawning in thatdirection.

  "It is such a nice, quiet time now, mama, with Phyllis settled downagain to private life, and no especial work on hand; let's ask AuntHenrietta to spend the day," said Jessamy one morning in that eventfulMarch.

  Bab groaned, and even Phyllis looked downcast. "Oh, dear, it's awful tohave a sense of duty," sighed Bab. "What does make you so dreadfullyconscientious, Jessamy?"

  "It isn't such a tremendous proof of conscientiousness," Jessamy began;but her mother said:

  "It is exactly what I have been meaning to suggest for some time.We have scarcely seen anything of aunt all winter, and we owe herattention; she is growing old."

  "She isn't growing old, Madrina; you know that. She always was old; butshe doesn't mean to admit it, nor let it increase," said Bab. "Well, Isuppose I can maintain my portion of family virtue. Write your note,Jessamy-Griselda, the patient and heroic."

  Aunt Henrietta accepted the invitation, which was for three days later,and appeared at half-past twelve precisely, in all the dignity of astiff black silk, her old-fashioned heavy gold watch-chain with theseals, and a high tortoise-shell comb which had been her mother's. Sheno more held to the idea of ladies of her age wearing even so much asa widow's cap than she did to the absurdity of arriving ten minutesbefore luncheon. Half an hour, she declared, was not too long to restafter reaching her destination before sitting down to the table. Itwas ridiculous to come barely in time to lay off one's things. Henceshe arrived at her niece's apartment thirty minutes before the hourfor lunch, and before the girls had had time to get ready to greether. The Wyndhams believed that it was impossible for one servant todo everything, and do it well; so when there was to be a guest inthe little home, Jessamy, Phyllis, and Bab took their share of thepreparations.

  "You've been getting a new rug for your dining-room," said AuntHenrietta, in the tone of disapproval which she kept "for family use,"as Bab said.

  "Yes; that is Phyllis's contribution to our comfort. She bought it withher 'Trumpet' money," replied Mrs. Wyndham, mildly. "The old one wetook for Bab's room; her carpet was worn out."

  "The idea of a girl who pretends to be a lady, a Wyndham, working fora horrible newspaper!" exclaimed Aunt Henrietta. "How do you get onnow, Emily? You seem to be branching out." The last remark being calledforth by the old lady's discovery of a picture which she had not seenbefore between the dining-room windows.

  "It is fortunate Violet is not an ordinary servant, and that we don'tmind her hearing these things!" thought Mrs. Wyndham, but she repliedaloud: "We have enough to live on, you know, aunt. Of course we mustlook after the pennies closely; but with care we have all we absolutelyneed, and the girls have added considerably to our income. Jessamyand Phyllis have great reason to rejoice in their success with theirmagazine work, especially when one considers how many are rushing intothat field."

  "So Barbara is the only drone?" said Aunt Henrietta. "No, no potatoes;my doctor forbids them. It is often the one who says most who doesleast."

  "Barbara is far from a drone, Aunt Henrietta," said Phyllis, seeing Babfold her lips with a look at once angry and hurt. "There has to be oneto help with the housekeeping. Bab is the most competent little personyou could imagine, and is so lively and cheery she keeps us all up tothe mark."

  "Humph!" ejaculated Aunt Henrietta, with a world of significance in thesound. "Take away that dreadful cat. I always detested cats! How peoplecan keep animals in such a limited space I can't conceive. When are youto be married, Barbara; or will that young man you are engaged to everbe able to support you?"

  "Next fall, if Doctor Leighton has his wish," said Bab, while Phyllisgathered up Truce, and bore him, surprised and indignant, from theroom, where, as everywhere, he was used to being considered anacquisition. "Doctor Leighton expects to be able to support me. Hewould not have asked me to marry him, otherwise." Barbara disdainedreminding her aunt that Tom was heir to a very good inheritance.It would have been so unbearable if even Aunt Henrietta, for whoseopinion in general she had little regard, looked on her marriage from amercenary point of view.

  "Very probably. He seems to be a very nice young man," said AuntHenrietta, to the surprise of Barbara, who was ready to do battle forher lover. But Aunt Henrietta was more lenient in her judgment of boysthan of girls.

  The luncheon passed off with no further passage at arms, and AuntHenrietta settled herself comfortably to slow knitting in the be
stchair in the parlor, and to conversation with her niece-in-law. Thegirls were unmistakably "fidgety," as Aunt Henrietta protestinglyremarked. A note had come for Jessamy during lunch. She had read itwith quickened breath, and conveyed it to the other two slyly, whenopportunity offered. The effect on all three had been disturbing.Bab flitted about from room to room, finding it impossible to keepstill. And, while Phyllis had greater nervous control of herself, heranswers to remarks addressed to her were so wide of the mark that AuntHenrietta commented on it severely, and her Aunt Wyndham kindly let heralone.

  As to Jessamy, her cheeks were burning, her eyes so bright that AuntHenrietta, looking at her attentively, prescribed: "Six drops of numberthree aconite in a half-glass of water, and take one teaspoonful everyhour. You are certainly feverish, child," she added. Jessamy's beautyhad made her Aunt Henrietta's favorite from her childhood.

  At half-past four, just after Aunt Henrietta had rolled up herwork preparatory to taking her afternoon tea before setting outhomeward--"You live at such an unearthly distance from civilization,"she said, as though the Wyndhams were selfishly inconsiderate ofeverything but their own pleasure in living so far up-town and seekinglow rent--just at half-past four the bell rang, and Mrs. Wyndham met atthe door Robert Lane, looking so excited, entering with such a quickstep, and with such flashing eyes, that he hardly seemed to be himself,and brought with him instantly an electric atmosphere.

  "What has happened to you, Mr. Lane?" asked Mrs. Wyndham. "You know myaunt, Mrs. Hewlett? You look as though some one had made you heir to afortune."

  "Not a bad guess, Mrs. Wyndham," said Robert, taking the extended hand."I have as good news as that to tell you. I honestly believe I like itbetter than a fortune for myself."

  "Then it is all right? He came to terms?" cried Bab, while Jessamy andPhyllis, knowing the answer before it was given, dropped, quite palewith joy, on the sofa, their arms holding each other tight.

  "All right, little lady. The check is here," cried Robert, jubilantly,slapping himself on the breast.

  Mrs. Wyndham turned pale. Even Aunt Henrietta began to tremble. "Maywe know what you are talking about, young man?" she said sternly."Evidently the girls have the advantage of us."

  "My dear Mrs. Wyndham," Robert began, "it is a rather long story;the beginning dates back to the winter before last, when I was firstgraduated from the law school, and had a desk in one of Mr. Abbott'soffices."

  A BEARER OF GOOD TIDINGS.]

  At the mention of that fateful name Mrs. Wyndham sat erect, claspingtight the arms of her chair. "Mr. Abbott?" she whispered.

  "Precisely; the Abbott who robbed you," said Robert, noddingemphatically. "At the time I was frequently asked to witness hissignature to papers; among others were three deeds of transfer. Icaught a glimpse of their contents, not reading them in detail, ofcourse, but I saw enough to know they were transfer deeds for certainproperty held by Mr. Abbott in his own name. He made it over to hiswife. The dates of those deeds I remembered--I have a good memory fordates, always had. The first was signed on my own birthday, Decemberseventh; the second, on January third, the day on which a chum ofmine, whose birthday I have always kept by dining with him, was born;the third was signed the day before Washington's birthday, and I hadto witness it with my coat on, ready to start out of town for theholiday--so I was prepared to swear to all three dates with absolutecertainty. At the time there were many things which led me to suspectthat Mr. Abbott was not all one's fancy paints an honest man, but Iwas not called upon to meddle in his affairs, merely renting desk-roomof him as I did. But the following spring, when I heard of the failureof the Wyndham Corporation, and that your family had lost everything,practically, while Abbott was still prosperous, I began to thinkseriously. A year ago I met Miss Jessamy, and I--I thought such a--Ithought--why, it seemed a shame, don't you know, that she should bedeprived of anything, when nothing was good--" Robert broke off, muchembarrassed.

  "And you tried to help us?" suggested Mrs. Wyndham; while AuntHenrietta looked sharply from blushing Jessamy to the no less crimsonyoung lawyer.

  "Yes, yes," said Robert, gratefully. "I went to Mr. Hurd and told himwhat I knew about that rascal having put his property out of his handswhen the company was already involved and he could not legally do so.Mr. Hurd jumped at the information. 'Young man,' he said, 'you maybe the very witness we needed to establish what we were all morallycertain of, yet could never prove.' Then I spoke to Mrs. Van Alyn--no,I had already spoken to her before I met Miss Jessamy. I forgot--I hadseen Jessamy when I began to act, but had not met her. Mrs. Van Alynsaid you ought not to be told until we were certain, because you weretoo delicate to be upset on a possibly false clue. So Mrs. Van Alynasked Jessamy--Miss Wyndham--to meet me at her house, and she gave meall the information necessary to proceed on. We have been at work eversince, more or less. You were not told, for it proved unnecessary; Mr.Hurd having power of attorney for you. Abbott is a sly cur; we couldn'testablish illegal transfers beyond the deeds I witnessed, though it isabsolutely certain he made others. However, those amounted to fortythousand dollars. Mr. Hurd and I proved to him that we could--andthere wasn't much doubt Mr. Hurd would--sue him for that amount, andnot only get it, but a pretty tidy sum would be out of his pocket forcosts. The old rascal hated to disgorge, but he wanted to economizeon his restitution, and handing over forty thousand to Mr. Hurd wascheaper than meeting the suit. So Mr. Hurd got his check for thatamount--it's certified--and he let me bring it up to you, and tell youthe story, like the trump he is, because he is good enough to say therecovery came through me. Mrs. Wyndham, here is forty thousand dollars,and if you are as glad as I am about it you are a pretty happy woman."

  So saying, and with a decided choke in his voice, Robert laid acertified check on Mrs. Wyndham's knee, and dropped silently back inhis chair.

  Not a sound broke the stillness of the room for a few moments, thenAunt Henrietta electrified the company. Without a word, she aroseto her full stately height, walked slowly over to where Robert sat,put both arms around him, and kissed him soundly, with a kiss thatresounded. "You are a second Daniel Webster," she said, and solemnlyresumed her seat.

  Nothing better could have happened. Aunt Henrietta had relievedthe tension of a moment that was in danger of becoming hysterical.Following her aunt-in-law's example, though with a difference, Mrs.Wyndham took both of Robert's hands, the tears of joy running down hercheeks. "I can't thank you, my dear," she said simply. "I doubt yourwanting me to; but I shall never, never forget that we owe it to youthat even this portion of our lost property is restored. And to us,who have been taught the lesson of economy so sharply, forty thousanddollars will be a large sum."

  Jessamy, Phyllis, and Bab were crying softly, but their faces wereflushed with joy and bright with smiles. "Oh, here's Tom!" cried Bab,as she always did when she heard Tom's peculiar ring, and ran to thedoor to bring him in.

  "Hallo, Bob, old man! I see you've got it!" cried Tom, the instant heentered and saw the April faces. "Well, talk about special providences;wasn't it about the neatest bit of good fortune you ever knew that youshould have witnessed those deeds, and had your desk in old Abbott'soffice? And I believe you'll get your reward, too," he added forRobert's ear alone. "Leave it to me, and I'll manage the others--giveyou a chance. I tell you, Mother Wyndham, I'm tremendously glad.Now it's over, and you know the whole story, I'll tell you that myengagement to Bab depended on the recovery of this money. If it hadn'tbeen captured I should have broken it off--I wouldn't marry a girlwithout a little fortune."

  "She hasn't married you yet, sir, that girl-with-a-fortune, so you'dbetter not be too sure of her. I may use my share of the forty thousandto go off to fashionable watering-places this summer, and invest ina little French title attached to a little French man," said Bab,saucily, so saucily that Aunt Henrietta said severely:

  "Barbara, such jests are not seemly."

  "Now, Mother Wyndham," continued Tom, "aren't you going to treat onthe joyful occasion? In default of champagne
and grouse, I propose aWelsh rabbit in the chafing-dish, and anything else to be found; and,as Jessamy is the chief conspirator of the family, the one who got intothe plot first, I think she ought to make it. Go out to the kitchen,Princess, please, and make us a rabbit."

  "Violet is out," began Mrs. Wyndham, hesitating.

  "Splendid!" said Tom the artful, who had remembered this fact when hespoke. "Violet is no good at rabbits. Please be nice, Jessamy, and makeit."

  "Of course I will," said Jessamy, rising.

  "Maybe some one will help you," continued Tom, a hand on Phyllis'sand Bab's arm warning them not to offer. "I would, only I am notproficient."

  "I know how to make a rabbit, at least to toast the bread," saidRobert. "I'll help."

  Mrs. Wyndham looked anxiously after the pair disappearing down thehall. It was not hard to see through Tom's Machiavelism, and she longedto follow Jessamy.

  In the kitchen, empty save for Truce still hopefully waiting for mice,Jessamy lost her usual dignified grace.

  She cut the bread for the toast on the bias, and lighted the top ofthe gas-range instead of the broiler to toast it, dropped the cheesein the sink, and at last burned her fingers so badly with a match thatRobert had to come to the rescue.

  "Let me see them," he said, getting possession of her hands.

  There must have been something in his voice not quite suited to thesimple words, for Jessamy trembled violently, and would not raise hereyes to look at him.

  Taking the little burnt hand in his, Robert forgot why he held it.

  "Jessamy," he said, "I don't want to take advantage of any littlegratitude you may feel toward me; indeed, you ought not to be grateful,for it was chance that enabled me to be a witness for you, and any onewould have done what I did for mere justice's sake. But you know that Idid it for you with joy, because I was doing it for the girl I loved,and will still love if she doesn't care a bit for me. But do you carefor me, just a little, Jessamy?"

  "No," said Jessamy.

  "What!" cried poor Robert. "Jessamy, you can't mean that! You knew Iwas caring for you, and you are not a heartless flirt! Jessamy, don'tyou care for me?"

  "Not a little, Robert," whispered Jessamy, and raised her eyes at lastto look at him. Beautiful eyes Jessamy had at all times; now theywere wonderful, lighted with the best and most precious thing in theworld--a pure, unselfish, self-forgetting love.

  Robert read it, and stood a moment abashed and awed, as a true manshould be. Before he had time to recover, and accept the great joyand the priceless gift which were his, Tom's voice was heard talkingvolubly as feet drew near, quite as though he suspected the situation,and was giving Robert and Jessamy warning.

  "Not ready yet?" he cried, entering. "Why, you haven't set the table,nor toasted the bread, by Jove!"

  Jessamy stood motionless a moment, then she looked at her mother. Therewas no use for her to try to speak of lesser things, her heart was toofull. With a swift motion she turned to her mother, who, seeing whathad happened, gathered her in her arms.

  "Will you let Rob have me, mama--for forty thousand dollars, you know?"Jessamy whispered.

  "Three cheers for Judge Lane and his bride," cried Tom. "Give you joy,old man! Except Bab and Phyllis, she's the best girl in all the world,and I can't say more for you than that you deserve her." The two youngmen wrung each other's hand with that hearty good will that means somuch, and Phyllis and Bab kissed Jessamy with smiles and tears. Thenevery one rallied to make the occasion worthy of itself. Supper wasserved, not only the belated rabbit, but lots of other good cheer; andthe health of Rob and Jessamy was drunk in coffee of the future bride'smaking, which may not have been as festive as champagne, but was verydelicious.

  Aunt Henrietta departed in such an amiable frame of mind that hernieces almost hated to have her go. Alan dropped in that evening, andDavid, who, when he came, was despatched to bring Ruth to hear thedouble tidings of good and congratulate the happy pair.

  "But the best part of the whole wonderful afternoon," said Bab, as shebade Tom good-night, helping him on with his greatcoat in the hall, todo which she had to stand on a chair, owing to her five feet and Tom'sgenerous inches, "the best part of it all is that our princess shouldhave become engaged in the kitchen. It is so funny!"

  "Oh, I don't know," said Tom. "'The queen was in the kitchen, eatingbread and honey'--sweet, too, you see."

  "Oh, Tom, you goose! No, she wasn't. The queen was in the _parlor_,"cried Bab.

  "Well, you never can tell about versions of Mother Goose, nor wherelove will get you; it may have been the kitchen," said Tom, the wise.

  CHAPTER XVIII

  UNDER THE HARVEST MOON

  The swelling twigs of March had burst into leafage; rough winds hadshaken the "darling buds of May," and the fruit hung fully formed, evenripened in many cases, on the branches. The summer had flown past, ahappy summer, the last of Jessamy's and Barbara's girlhood. Tom andRobert had urged their claim to begin their own homes by the autumn,and Mrs. Wyndham, who did not approve of long engagements, had yielded.

  "I am not going to spend the very last summer that I am free to be asjolly as I wish, without responsibilities,--the last summer beforeI settle down into a frumpy, solemn old married woman,--strugglingwith clothes," Barbara declared. "If I can't get enough together tobe married in a month, I will start life in a shirt-waist and a duckskirt. We are going to have the very best time we ever had, just wefour, with our own particular boys for a kind of entr?e, all summeruntil August, and then I will consent to talk dress-making. I think itis abominable the way weddings are turned into bugbears--as thoughthey weren't bad enough in the best regulated households! That's whatthe nursery rhyme means:

  "Needles and pins, needles and pins, When a girl's married her trouble begins!"

  "But it doesn't say _girl_, Babbie; it is when a _man_ marries," saidPhyllis.

  "Misprint!" said Bab. "You ought to know what it is to have yoursentiments perverted by a printer's error. That couplet plainly refersto the bride's agonies in the hands of the dressmakers; what would the_man_ have to do with needles and pins? It is perfectly clear to me;but I don't mean to have any troubles begin that way. I'd rather bemyself, ready to enjoy my new happiness, than be married all worn outand nervous as so many girls are, just for the sake of a few dressesmore or less. People do make themselves so much bother in this world;it makes me ache to see them!"

  "Hear, hear!" said Jessamy, applauding with two untrimmed hats she washolding like cymbals. "What a sensible wife Doctor Thomas Leighton isto have! However, I confess I agree with her--partly, at least."

  "Well, I agree with her wholly," said Bab, impartially. "I want thislast summer we are three girls together to be light-hearted and happy,with no bother we can possibly dodge."

  Barbara's program was faithfully carried out. The Wyndhams would notgo away because they clung to every day of the few left them of theirlife in the little apartment where happiness had found them out, andwhere they had blossomed from inexperienced girls into valuable women.Like the previous summer, when necessity had kept them in the city,they took their country air in small doses, making excursions into thesurrounding fields, if fields can be said to surround New York whichhave to be reached through such long stretches of diminishing tenements.

  In August the serious business of wedding preparations had to be faced;but both Jessamy and Barbara insisted on their being as simple aspossible.

  How and where to be married was a problem for two brides in one family,when that family lived in an apartment not large enough for their dailyneeds. It never occurred to the girls to be married separately. Indeed,Tom urged Phyllis to seize some youth--violently, if she must--and bemarried with the other two; because, he pointed out, it would not onlybe effective to marry them all at once, but save trouble in the future.

  Poor Phyllis! She kept her feelings bravely hidden; but it was noteasy for her to look forward to parting with Jessamy and Bab. Eventhough they were to be near by when they were est
ablished in their ownlittle nests, Phyllis, and still more their mother, realized that theywould never be again as fully their own girls. But Jessamy and Babwere so happy that it would have been cruel to have shown a shadow ofregret. Besides, Mrs. Wyndham and Phyllis could not regret what was socertainly for the greater happiness of them all in the end.

  Aunt Henrietta came out nobly. She returned from the sea-shore early inSeptember, thus breaking up her custom of years' standing, and offeredher big house for the wedding. "It is proper in every way that youshould be married from my house, and have the reception and breakfastthere," she said solemnly. "Your apartment is out of the question forsuch an occasion, and you must be married suitably to your father'ssocial position."

  "How about Madrina? I didn't think one could affect the standing ofthe saints in heaven by unsuitable marriages!" whispered Bab, theincorrigible, to Jessamy. But she answered her great-aunt dutifully,with sincere thanks for the kindness which was very unexpected andgreat from her.

  Mrs. Van Alyn made a similar offer, much to Mrs. Hewlett's disgust."Does she think you have no kindred?" demanded the incensed old dame.

  "It seems to me," said Jessamy, discussing the matter in a privatefamily conclave, "that it would be more dignified, besides being farsweeter and lovelier, to be married from our own little home, and notfrom any one's house, no matter how dear or how nearly related to usshe might be. No one can understand just what this flat meant to uswhen we began it so courageously, and so ignorantly of all we had tolearn and do. I, for one, should be happier married from it than fromanywhere else in the world; it would be mean to turn our backs on itfor the greatest event of our lives, for which it has prepared us, andwhich began for us--I mean found us out--here. Then it is our home, andI don't like borrowed plumage, even an aunt's house. I think we oughtto be our very selves, most of all at such a time. If Bab agrees, Ishould prefer having our friends come here to welcome us and wish uswell after the ceremony; and I should like a wedding suited to thissort of living--suited to our means, in a word, though our means haveincreased lately."

  "That's crystal Jessamy all over," cried Bab, warmly. "You know, for mypart, I loathe show functions. It's much more refined and dignified touse one's own home, and cut your garment according to your cloth--no,cut your friends according to your space. Who wants a crowd, anyway? Idetest big weddings."

  "Of course I should prefer it," said Mrs. Wyndham. "Why not be marriedquietly at the church, with only the immediate families of Tom and Roband our own present? Then serve a breakfast to the same people, withthe addition of most intimate friends, and go away? A caterer couldcontrive a table in this room to seat all we should ask under thisarrangement."

  "As far as I am concerned," said Tom, "the less the merrier. I know Bobthinks so. All young men hate being married, and would like to sneak."

  "I should say I did think so!" cried Rob. "My honest opinion is thatthe only decent way to be married is to escape on a rope ladder out ofa back window, with no one but the parson and the necessary witnessesthe wiser."

  "Dear me!" laughed Jessamy. "I really do not think I should enjoy theladder. Then it is settled; a quiet church wedding, no one present butour own relatives, a breakfast not much larger attended, and then rushfor the carriage, with rice and an old shoe to follow, and that's all."

  "We are not going to have a stylish wedding--dear me, that soundslike 'Daisy Bell,' doesn't it?--so let's have a pretty one--original,I mean," said Phyllis. "Instead of conventional flowers, let's trimour rooms here with jasmine and barberries; they are ripe now, andthey would really be wonderfully pretty, and the decorations would beJessamy's and Barbara's names written everywhere in white and red."

  "What a pretty idea, Phyl!" said Rob; "but where would you get thebarberries?"

  "Send an order to a Boston florist; the berries grow abundantly in NewEngland, and he could get them for us," said Phyllis.

  "It would be lovely, Phyl; what a dear you are!" said Jessamy. "We'lldo everything just as we have planned it now, and write gratefulrefusals to Aunt Henrietta and dear Mrs. Van Alyn for their offers."

  The wedding was to be on the twenty-fourth of September. On thetwenty-third the little apartment was a dream of beauty. Phyllis'splan had been successful, the barberries had arrived, great boxes ofthem, and hung everywhere, graceful, bright, autumnal, yet cheery, fullof suggestions of the woods, yet of homely virtues.

  They really were rather like Babbie, prickly, pungent, little andslender, bright and cheerful, lighting up the darkest corner whereinthey were placed.

  As a foil to them, white jasmine filled the rooms with its peculiarperfume, suggestive of Jessamy in more than name with its grace,daintiness, and beauty.

  Phyllis stood, tired but satisfied, surveying the completed work of herhands. Nothing was wanting; dear little Babbie and their Jessamy bridewere to have as pretty a wedding as love and taste could make it--meremoney could do far less than these.

  Phyllis's heart was heavy. Both the brides of the morrow had gone withtheir mother, and Ruth, and Rob's and Tom's sisters, the bridesmaidselect, and little Margery Horton, who had earned the right to be maidof honor, to meet Tom and Rob with their best men at the church torehearse the ceremony. Phyllis was, of course, a bridesmaid also;but there were so many little last things to attend to at home thatshe begged off from the rehearsal, promising to learn so well theinstructions given her by the others that she would do nothing on themorrow to disgrace her family. The bell rang, and Violet admitted Alan."I brought a little present," he began, and handed Phyllis two more ofthe white-wrapped boxes which had been pouring in of late.

  "The room looks pretty, doesn't it?" said Phyllis, after she hadthanked him for her cousins.

  "It is beautiful; but the best of it is the symbolism," said Alan,gravely. "It will be the sort of wedding I like."

  "All weddings are dreadful," said Phyllis, out of her increasingloneliness.

  "Now don't say that, Phyllis," said Alan, suddenly becoming very red."I want you to look forward to mine--I mean, I--what I want to sayis, Phyllis--oh, Phyl, don't you know I love you?" cried poor Alan indeadly earnest, and stammering in a way new to him.

  "Yes, I do know it, Alan, and I'm dreadfully, bitterly sorry," saidPhyllis. "I have tried in every way to make you understand I was sorry.I wish you had not made it necessary for me to hurt you to-day, whenthere ought to be no sorrow in the air. And don't forget for a minutethat I am more fond of you than of any one in all the world, except mydear family. But there ought not to be an exception. I couldn't marryyou unless you were dearer than every one, myself, my life, to me."

  Poor Alan had listened to this outburst in absolute silence, his onerefuge under any strong emotion. Phyllis had spoken rapidly, like onewho had gone over the ground with herself, and who was under pressureof strong excitement.

  "Then you won't marry me?" said Alan. "I tell you, Phyllis, I won'tgive up. You say you are fond of me; I'll make you fonder. It's not arefusal; it's just a postponement. Forget I said anything about it.I'll get you yet to say yes. Have some tea; you look tired, and it'sbut natural you should not be cheerful with the parting before you, andyou all saying good-by, as it were, to your girlhood. I had no rightto bother you now. I was a selfish brute. We'll be the same friends,Phyllis; for I could not live without you, my girl."

  Phyllis felt as though this determined young man, with the quiet,intense face and the eyes that were full of love for her, weresomething she could never escape, and the feeling frightened her.

  "I don't want to marry; I have my work," she said.

  "Oh, your work!" said Alan, with a man's and a fellow writer's scornfor a woman's career. "Fancy giving up love, and a home, and everythingbest in life for such a thing as writing! If you were as great asGeorge Eliot it would be folly, Phyllis."

  "The only reason for marrying is that some one is so necessary to you,you can't be happy without him," said Phyllis. "That's what I think."

  "Quite right; so do I; and you are necessary to my
happiness, my dear,"said Alan, gravely.

  "You are not necessary to me, Alan, though I should miss you dreadfullyif I lost you. Oh, please, please don't think of this any more, but letus be friends as before," said Phyllis, with tears in her eyes.

  "Don't mind, my dear; I'll call for your tea. And as to the rest, I'llbe necessary to you, if humble trying can make me," said persistentAlan, quietly.

  The wedding was at noon. The day dawned sunny, warm, and lovely, anideal day for a wedding. Jessamy and Barbara were dressed early, andshut themselves in their mother's room for one last, sacred, gravelittle talk before they went forth to assume the vows which must alwaysbe solemn to those who remember how much they include, and who makethem meaning to fulfil them to the end of life, however long it be.

  Ruth Wells, Alice Leighton, Evelyn Lane, Phyllis's companionbridesmaids, clustered in Phyllis's room, sweet and blooming in theiryouthful prettiness, set off by rose-hued gowns. As the hour forstarting for the church sounded, they came down the stairs, giving avision of loveliness to the admiring children gathered from neighboringflats to see the entrancing spectacle of at least so much of a doublewedding.

  The church held but few friends. The simplicity of the service was notto be marred by the presence of those drawn thither by idle curiosity.

  "Who giveth this woman?" asked the clergyman; but there was not onepresent who did not give something of dear Jessamy and Barbara.

  Barbara's responses were inaudible; the solemnity of the occasionoverawed gay Babbie, though all her heart vowed to Tom the promisesasked of her. But Jessamy looked up at Robert, standing tall and alittle pale beside her, and made her vows in a voice low, but sodistinct that it reached to the door of the church.

  And Tom and Robert vowed to cherish and love the precious giftsintrusted to them that day, in tones that admitted no doubt that theymeant to keep the promises to the grave, and beyond it, if that mightbe.

  The wedding breakfast was spread at the return of the bridal party. Thetable did crowd the room, it was true, but no one minded in the least.

  There was not one guest but had a claim to be there through nearkinship or closest friendship, not one who did not love more or lessthe brides sitting side by side at the head of the table, the new andexceeding proud young husbands by their sides, and the bridesmaidsclustered as near as circumstances permitted.

  One of the bridesmaids wore a sparkling diamond on her left hand, andPhyllis learned for the first time that the Scotch friend she had foundin Boston was going to take from her the friend who had been so much toher, and to Jessamy and Bab, through their days of trial, for Ruth andDavid were engaged.

  Mr. Hurd, present of course, as few had a better claim to be, triedto make a speech, but broke down, and ended more effectively than hiscarefully prepared sentences would have done in a sincere: "God blessyou both!"

  Aunt Henrietta tried to relate a story of her own wedding, but lostthe point in an unusual burst of emotion, and, instead of finishing,produced two old-fashioned jewel-cases, and presented them to Jessamyand Barbara, with the love, as Aunt Henrietta remarked, with unexpectedpoetry, "of their great-grandmother, though the dear lady had notlived to see this happy day."

  It was hard not to smile at this bit of sentiment, considering that thebrides' great-grandmother had missed that happy day by some seventyyears; but it was well to have something to smile at just when therewas a little danger of every one growing sentimental. When Jessamyopened the leather case, there lay on the faded red velvet lining ofhers a cross set with diamonds, and Barbara's blue-lined case revealeda string of beautiful old pearls.

  When the toasts had been drunk, and the cake cut, and the little whiteboxes of cake, already prepared, distributed to the guests, Jessamyand Barbara arose and slipped away to lay off their bridal white anddon the traveling-gowns in which they were to go out into the world,no longer Jessamy and Bab Wyndham, but Mrs. Robert Lane and Mrs.Thomas Leighton. Truce and Nixie, with large white satin bows on theircollars, superintended the transformation, and both girls stooped tohug the little dog and cat who were so thoroughly associated with theirhappiness.

  "Good-by, you dear, loveliest young ladies in all dis yere world,"sobbed Violet. "Miss Phyllis and I's goin' take care you ma while you'sgone, so don' you worry 'bout nothin', an' you gowns sets lovely."

  "Good-by, dearies; it is like seeing my own children married,"whispered Mrs. Van Alyn, holding Jessamy and Bab close in one longembrace.

  Phyllis kissed them each, and each clung to her as if the parting wereforever.

  "Come, come," called Tom, who had no desire to let the going away growtearful. "There's no time for long hugs, children, and we'll be backbefore you get the flat in order."

  Mrs. Wyndham held out her arms, and both her girls rested in them for amoment without a word.

  "Good-by, darlings; the best daughters a mother ever had," Mrs. Wyndhamwhispered; and Jessamy and Barbara ran down the stairs without daringto stop or look behind.

  A shower of rice fell on the two carriages. Tom and Robert flew throughthe storm, the drivers cracked their whips, two flushed, sweet,smiling, tearful faces looked out of the windows for a moment, andJessamy and Barbara had gone.

  For a moment Phyllis and her aunt clung to each other, feeling thatthey alone were left out of a wreck of the world. Then a small boyrushed up the stairs, sent by Tom.

  "Please, ma'am, Mr. Alan Armstrong is dead--run over by a trolley," hecried.

  The cry of consternation which Mrs. Wyndham uttered drowned the moanwith which poor Phyllis fell unconscious to the floor.

  "Oh, what an ending!" murmured Ruth, as she rushed to help Mrs. Wyndhamraise Phyllis's head.

  "Is it true?" whispered Phyllis, when they had laid her on the couchand brought her back to knowledge of her pain.

  "Hush, dear, be still; we have sent to learn the truth. Dear, dearPhyllis, do you care so much?" sobbed her aunt.

  Phyllis turned her head away without speaking. So much! Ah, now, toolate, she knew how much. And she had wounded Alan, had thought herwork might suffice her, and had told him he was not necessary to herhappiness!

  That was like her, not to know how dependent she really was, to goon happily in her little ways, nor know what was her most preciouspossession till too late.

  That was the cruel thought--too late, too late!

  As she lay there, numb with agony, Phyllis saw the long, blank yearsahead, wherein Alan's dear, leaping step should never fall on her earagain, and could not face them. Thank heaven! Jessamy and Barbara hadfound their joy, and it would not be marred in its first sweetness byknowledge of her agony.

  A step came up the stairs; it was curious--would it always be likethis, Phyllis wondered. Should she always fancy all steps like his? Itsounded so much like Alan, but Alan was dead, crushed--

  "Where's my dear, poor Phyllis? 'Twas a cruel trick," cried a voice,and all the house rang with Phyllis's cry of: "Alan, Alan!"

  There was need of no more words. Trembling, scarce trusting her eyes,Phyllis lay looking up at Alan--Alan in the flesh, come back from thedead, and to her!

  "I have learned that you are necessary, Alan; I should have died if ithad been true," she whispered.

  "It would have been worth dying for if I couldn't have taught youto love me any other way, my Phyllis," said Alan, with the old-timetwinkle in his eye, and with a suggestion of an Irish bull in hismeaning.

  "A telegram, ma'am," said Violet, gingerly holding out the yellowenvelope to Mrs. Wyndham.

  Mrs. Wyndham tore it open; it was dated from the Grand Central, and sheread: "'Beg Phyllis to forgive. Nothing less would fetch her; wantedAlan to share happiness. TOM.'"

  "Well, Phyllis will evidently follow soon, Emily," said Mrs. Van Alyn,kissing her friend good-night very lovingly.

  "I shall be the only one of the Wyndham girls left," returned Mrs.Wyndham, smiling rather tearfully; "the last corner of our dear squareof four. Jessamy, Babbie, Phyllis; they are the best girls in all theworld, Mary. Wedd
ings are tearful things to mothers, but who could helprejoicing that all my precious three are so blissfully happy?"