Lavender and Old Lace Part 25

"At the 'Widder's,' I mean, this very evening."

"That's nice," answered Ruth, refusing to ask the question.

"It's Joe and Hepsey," he continued, "and I thought perhaps you might stoop low enough to a.s.sist me in selecting an appropriate wedding gift in yonder seething mart. I feel greatly indebted to them."

"Why, of course I will; it's quite sudden, isn't it?" "Far be it from me to say so. However, it's the most reversed wedding I ever heard of.

A marriage at the home of the groom, to say the least, is unusual.

Moreover, the 'Widder' Pendleton is to take the bridal tour and leave the happy couple at home. She's going to visit a relative who is distant in both position and relationship--all unknown to the relative, I fancy.

She starts immediately after the ceremony and it seems to me that it would be a pious notion to throw rice and old shoes after her."

"Why, Carl! You don't want to maim her, do you?"

"I wouldn't mind. If it hadn't been for my ostrich-like digestion, I wouldn't have had anything to worry about by this time. However, if you insist, I will throw the rice and let you heave the shoes. If you have the precision of aim which distinguishes your s.e.x, the 'Widder' will escape uninjured."

"Am I to be invited?"

"Certainly--haven't I already invited you?"

"They may not like it."

"That doesn't make any difference. Lots of people go to weddings who aren't wanted."

"I'll go, then," announced Ruth, "and once again, I give you my gracious permission to kiss the bride."

"Thank you, dear, but I'm not going to kiss any brides except my own.

I've signed the pledge and sworn off."

They created a sensation in the village when they acquired the set of china which had been on exhibition over a year. During that time it had fallen at least a third in price, though its value was unchanged. Ruth bought a hideous red table-cloth, which she knew would please Hepsey, greatly to Winfield's disgust.

"Why do you do that?" he demanded. "Don't you know that, in all probability, I'll have to eat off of it? I much prefer the oilcloth, to which I am now accustomed."

"You'll have to get used to table linen, dear," she returned teasingly; "it's my ambition to have one just like this for state occasions."

Joe appeared with the chariot just in time to receive and transport the gift. "Here's your wedding present, Joe!" called Winfield, and the innocent villagers formed a circle about them as the groom-elect endeavoured to express his appreciation. Winfield helped him pack the "101 pieces" on the back seat and under it, and when Ruth, feeling like a fairy G.o.dmother, presented the red table-cloth, his cup of joy was full.

He started off proudly, with a soup tureen and two platters on the seat beside him. The red table-cloth was slung over his arm, in toreador fashion, and the normal creak of the conveyance was accentuated by an ominous rattle of crockery. Then he circled back, motioning them to wait.

"Here's sunthin' I most forgot," he said, giving Ruth a note. "I'd drive you back fer nothin', only I've got sech a load."

The note was from Miss Ainslie, inviting Miss Thorne and her friend to come at five o'clock and stay to tea. No answer was expected unless she could not come.

The quaint, old-fashioned script was in some way familiar. A flash of memory took Ruth back to the note she had found in the dresser drawer, beginning: "I thank you from my heart for understanding me." So it was Miss Ainslie who had sent the mysterious message to Aunt Jane.

"You're not paying any attention to me," complained Winfield. "I suppose, when we're married, I'll have to write out what I want to say to you, and put it on file."

"You're a goose," laughed Ruth. "We're going to Miss Ainslie's to-night for tea. Aren't we getting gay?"

"Indeed we are! Weddings and teas follow one another like Regret on the heels of Pleasure."

"Pretty simile," commented Ruth. "If we go to the tea, we'll have to miss the wedding."

"Well, we've been to a wedding quite recently, so I suppose it's better to go to the tea. Perhaps, by arranging it, we might be given nourishment at both places--not that I pine for the 'Widder's' cooking.

Anyhow, we've sent our gift, and they'd rather have that than to have us, if they were permitted to choose."

"Do you suppose they'll give us anything?"

"Let us hope not."

"I don't believe we want any at all," she said. "Most of them would be in bad taste, and you'd have to bury them at night, one at a time, while I held a lantern."

"The policeman on the beat would come and ask us what we were doing,"

he objected; "and when we told him we were only burying our wedding presents, he wouldn't believe us. We'd be dragged to the station and put into a noisome cell. Wouldn't it make a pretty story for the morning papers! The people who gave us the things would enjoy it over their coffee."

"It would be pathetic, wouldn't it?"

"It would, Miss Thorne. I think we'd better not tell anybody until its all safely over, and then we can have a little card printed to go with the announcement, saying that if anybody is inclined to give us a present, we'd rather have the money."

"You're a very practical person, Carl. One would think you had been married several times."

"We'll be married as often as you like, dear. Judging by your respected aunt, one ceremony isn't 'rightfully bindin', and I want it done often enough to be sure that you can't get away from me."

As they entered the gate, Uncle James approached stealthily by a roundabout way and beckoned to them. "Excuse me," he began, as they came within speaking distance, "but has Mis' Ball give you furniture?"

"Yes," replied Ruth, in astonishment, "why?"

"There's clouds to starboard and she's repentin'. She's been admirin'

of it the hull mornin' in the attic. I was sot in the kitchen with pertaters," he explained, "but the work is wearin' and a feller needs fresh air."

"Thank you for the tip, Uncle," said Winfield, heartily.

The old man glowed with gratification. "We men understand each other,"

was plainly written on his expressive face, as he went noiselessly back to the kitchen.

"You'd better go home, dear," suggested Ruth.

"Delicate hint," replied Winfield. "It would take a social strategist to perceive your hidden meaning. Still, my finer sensibilities respond instantly to your touch, and I will go. I flatter myself that I've never had to be put out yet, when I've been calling on a girl. Some subtle suggestion like yours has always been sufficient."

"Don't be cross, dear--let's see how soon you can get to the bottom of the hill. You can come back at four o'clock."

He laughed and turned back to wave his hand at her. She wafted a kiss from the tips of her fingers, which seemed momentarily to impede his progress, but she motioned him away and ran into the house.

Aunt Jane was nowhere to be seen, so she went on into the kitchen to help Uncle James with the potatoes. He had peeled almost a peck and the thick parings lay in a heap on the floor. "My goodness'" she exclaimed.

"You'd better throw those out, Uncle, and I'll put the potatoes on to boil."

He hastened out, with his arms full of peelings. "You're a real kind woman, Niece Ruth," he said gratefully, when he came in. "You don't favour your aunt none--I think you're more like me."

Mrs. Ball entered the kitchen with a cloud upon her brow, and in one of those rare flashes of insight which are vouchsafed to plodding mortals, a plan of action presented itself to Ruth. "Aunty," she said, before Mrs. Ball had time to speak, "you know I'm going back to the city to-morrow, and I'd like to send you and Uncle James a wedding present--you've been so good to me. What shall it be?"