"Well, I've done everything I can, and——"
"Now, all you have to do is to brush it five minutes in the morning and five minutes at night."
"Ten minutes a day! I should be exhausted."
"Well, I shall do it for you, then." Whereupon the scene acquired an excess of sentiment at once.
Certain more mundane passages may be observed, however, without any particular offence.
The passages that took place around the opening of the wedding presents were possibly as diverting as any. Tom, whose mind's eye was everupon the little colonial house in Tutors' Lane, now his property, was perhaps more concerned than most grooms are in the furnishing of his nest. He found himself greatly elated when he or his bride would draw forth some shining prize of a silver bowl or plate—until they began getting too many of them—and correspondingly depressed when some many-coloured glass lamp or strange dish would appear. What on earth could they do with them? Dear old Mrs. Conover, for example, sent a large Bohemian glass jar of a peacock-eyes pattern. It would have to be on view when she called, and as they had no way of knowing when that would be, it had to be on view all the time.
From Omaha came an ominous package which made Tom shudder. Would his sister contrive to mortify him? He could picture her pleasure in doing so, and when the package was opened and out came two china parrots, Tom thought the pleasure was hers. A note which came with the birds explained that they were very fashionable in Omaha at the time and that all Omaha had them on its dinner table. To Tom, his sister's gift and note could hardly have been worse, but Nancy kissed him and told him not to be stupid, that the parrots were nice; and Tom was so flustered he couldn't tell whether they were or not. At any rate, Nancy wrote a charming, sisterly little note, and Tom was more pleased with his future than ever.
The silver tea service which arrived early from Mrs. Robert Lee-Satterlee was among the grandestpresents that Nancy received from outside the family. She was particularly grateful for it, since it enabled her to leave her mother's with Henry and thus avoid a discussion which would have been unendurable at the time. It was true that Henry's wife had had a tea service herself and that it was now his; but it was not so fine as the Whitman one, and Henry would have regarded its removal with a jaundiced eye. His wife's silver, however, was quite a bit more handsome than the family silver, and he relinquished the latter with a gesture so graceful that any further donation of property to the hymeneal happiness seemed almost fulsome. Still he did make a further contribution—a costly set of John Stuart Mill.
A few days after she announced her engagement Nancy was waited upon by the Misses Forbes. Their mission was one of obvious importance, for they seldom moved out of their warm little house, excepting, of course, Miss Jennie, who was quite indifferent to the outside and marched forth almost without a thought. They wore, furthermore, a serious demeanour—even Miss Jennie, whose assumption of a cavalier manner didn't quite hide her excitement. She was carrying a small parcel neatly done up in white tissue paper; and when, after a period of rocking, she launched upon the little speech she had prepared, her liver-spotted old hands opened and closed over it. "You must know, my dear," she said, "that we are going to miss youvery much. Of course, you are not really going away"—the little colonial house was in truth only a quarter of a mile farther from their house than Nancy's present one—"yet it can't be quite the same, and we want to mark your going with our love and best wishes. So we have brought you the Burnham lace for you to keep and hand down to your children, and may God bless you, my dear, and keep you." Then they all had a quiet turn at their handkerchiefs, and the Burnham lace passed into the House of Reynolds.
Leofwin also called and delivered his gift in person. Tom was fortunately in the room at the time, and the somewhat painful scene was not protracted. It was the first meeting they had had since Leofwin had offered his hand and been rejected, and even Leofwin was constrained. Nancy wondered if Elfrida were to have her trip to Italy, but she could not put the question without appearing unmaidenly since she knew so well the only condition of the trip; and as Woodbridge had not many girls that were eligible for Leofwin's love, the prospect was indeed black. "Your happiness is all I ask," he said in a low tone, and, despite the theatrical diction, even Tom was touched by his sincerity. "You know, of course," he went on, "that I am not in a position now to make an adequate expression of my wishes"—itwasrather affecting even though nobody present quite knew what he meant—"but I have brought you the best I have. It is of smallmaterial value, but its sentimental value is great. I did all my best work with it." Whereupon he handed her a paint brush.
With considerable of a to-do, Mrs. Norris announced the gift of a grandfather's clock. "There is no use, Nancy dear, in dragging it around from house to house, and I'm having it sent to your new one." Accordingly, when the expressman announced its arrival everyone proceeded to the little colonial house in Tutors' Lane. Then difficulties arose. To begin with, it was too tall for any room in the house; and after a great deal of staggering around with it, trying it first in this place and then in that, a gorgeous wooden plume which stuck up from its head had to be removed. Then it was discovered that there were no works in it, Mrs. Norris having bought only the case, supposing of course that the thing was complete. When finally the parts had all been assembled and adjusted—which was in the second year of Tom's and Nancy's married life—it was learned that the ways of the clock were nearly as eccentric as those of its donor, for when it went at all, the hands made the downward journey with so much rapidity that they were exhausted at the bottom and in no condition for the return trip. The end came one morning when the clock, which was known as "Aunt Helen," was discovered to have died at six-thirty; and, all horological assistance having been summoned in vain, it was suffered to stand in its corner, untouched except by dust cloths, its hands forever pointing atsix-thirty, an eloquent warning of the end of indolence.
Although perhaps Mrs. Norris's contribution to the future life of our lovers was not distinguished by that perfect satisfaction which we all strive to furnish with our wedding gifts, her services at the wedding itself were invaluable. Nancy naturally turned to her for assistance with the thousand and one preliminaries that the bride's mother usually performs, and, moving in her own wondrous ways, Mrs. Norris saw to everything.
The night before the wedding arrived, and she gave a dinner for the bridal party. As, after considerable discussion, Nancy had consented to have the reception at the Norris house, Mrs. Norris relieved the minds of her people in the kitchen by having a buffet supper—and using paper napkins.
Nancy was grateful for this, for she was extremely tired, and the simpler everything could be, the better. So the supper was eaten all over the house and out on the terrace, and when the last paper napkin had been crumpled up, and the entire party had been brought together to drink the bride's health, and her future husband's, and their mutual healths, in the Dean's 1854 champagne, the party was whisked off up to the college church for rehearsal.
Upon arriving there, Nancy being engaged momentarily with Mary, who had heroically consented to be her maid of honour, Tom stole away by himself. Before the church the ridge sloped gently away, giving an unobstructed view of the valley.The evening was a perfect one, and Tom enjoyed one of those rare moments when one feels in complete accord with everything. All around him were the sights and sounds of bucolic tranquillity; and within, apart from the comfortable effects of the Dean's wine and cigar, were such melting thoughts as we may only guess at. Life was now just beginning for him—and how good it was!
The sun died in ever darkening carmine. Tom flicked the ash from his cigar and held it up against the light. It matched perfectly. A long zeppelin-like cloud hung, apparently motionless, a little higher up. Tom moved his cigar up to it and cocked one eye. Again perfect harmony. But, even as he looked, the cloud thinned out at one end and spoiled it a little. Oh, well, it was perfect, anyway.
Behind him came the strains of the church organ and the voices of the bridal party. They were calling him. He paused deliciously, drinking in the last moments of his freedom. And then, throwing away his cigar, he passed quickly up the hill and into the lighted church.
NEW BORZOI NOVELSFALL, 1922The QuestPio BarojaThe RoomG. B. SternOne of OursWilla CatherMary LeeGeoffrey DennisThe Promised IsleLaurids BruunThe ReturnWalter de la MareThe Bright ShawlJoseph HergesheimerThe Moth DecidesEdward Alden JewellIndian SummerEmily Grant Hutchings
NEW BORZOI NOVELSFALL, 1922
The QuestPio Baroja
The RoomG. B. Stern
One of OursWilla Cather
Mary LeeGeoffrey Dennis
The Promised IsleLaurids Bruun
The ReturnWalter de la Mare
The Bright ShawlJoseph Hergesheimer
The Moth DecidesEdward Alden Jewell
Indian SummerEmily Grant Hutchings
Transcriber's Note:The book title on the cover shows "Tutor's", while inside is "Tutors'"; and whereas "Woodbridge Center" is spelled thus, the alternative spelling "centre" is used elsewhere.
Transcriber's Note:The book title on the cover shows "Tutor's", while inside is "Tutors'"; and whereas "Woodbridge Center" is spelled thus, the alternative spelling "centre" is used elsewhere.