St. Johnsbury Caledonian. [volume] (St. Johnsbury, Vt.) 1867-1919, 1884-01-10
My Wedding Tour.

!. was only seventeen when Charli
married me, and | wrote myself for tn
6 first time Mrs. Charles Vail, Jr., an
saw the initials of the same emblazon
ed on my new Saratoga trunk, whe
, we started on our wedding journey
can speak of it calmly now, but til
time was when it narrowed up my in
l. most soul. To this day, Charlie be
l. comes wroth when it is mentioned
and says it is my "'clOuded imagina
e tion," but he knows and know well
that this is only one of those con
venient little loOpholes through whicl
) big masculinity can crawl on emergen
cy, and the facts remain unchanged
and indisputable. shall defy Charli,
and state them to the world.
Imagine then, reader or listener
whoever yOu may be, that the last
sllken train has swept itself out o
Trinity chapel. and the last note of the
inevitable "Wedding March" has shud-
dered itself out of the big groaning or
gan, and Charlie and | are married
Also, that the kissing and crying-OyeI
Is achieved, and the voices of my hus-
bands sisters and my maiden aunts,
hallIng down blessings on our heads,
are happily lost in the distance-that
the only sound we hear is the rattle
and roar of an express train laundering
eastward, and | am looking out into
the golden MONDAY watching the fields
and roads, and villages and woodlands
race past us, and sweep back into Il
room like running water. There we
sat, two blissful young fools-but it
| nf
either, that | am going to tell YOU,
only of the single adventure of our
wedding tour.
Charlie hadn't told me where we
were to 90, and | rather liked being
left in ignorance, knowing no more
than that we were being swept away
to some little paradise of our own-it
might be an island of the Hebrides, or
Crusoe's kingdom, or Eden itself We
stopped at a good many stations by the
way that looked anything but paradise
cal, but | saw everything through Il
glass, rosily, as sat there demure and
mute, by Charles side. The shadows
were growing short, and it was lust
noon, when we stopped at some "ville"
or other, whose long, low, struggling
buildings, crowded close upon the
track, and the broad, dusty village
street, branching off at right angles,
are photographed upon my memory.
Not for anything intrinsically remark
able there were only Il good many
teams and farm wagons, and open car
riages, and light carryalls standing
about, with the lazy horses rubbing
against the old worm eaten posts, I'M
der the row of dropping green trees
add plenty of people on the platform,
crowded together for greetings and
good-byes; it was Il commonplace,
everyday picture enough, and not
even il pretty one, except in fragments.
There was general exodus from the
car, and rush dinner ward, as we
supposed, toward the swinging sign of
some "llouse" or other down the lazy
little country street, and Charlie.
looking at his watch, said it was
twelve o'clock and didn't want some
lunch
~aIG q ,caREae Il. didn't. hut Of. course he
started up. He wouldn't be five min
utes, he said, and | mustn't move till
he came back. | was tn guard our two
seats and let no one come nigh them,
and above all, | was to sit still and not
he led astrly by any possible warning
to change cars. ''We're going through"
Charlie remarked, $50 just keep the
seats and don't pay any attention" !
nodded obedience, and Mr.. Vail march
ed ont of the car, leaving me to peer
after him in the crowd and catch the
last glimpse of his straw hat vanishing
down the street.
watched the crowd, when Charlie
was out of sight, and unused and won
dercd over the faces, and built up all
sorts of drcary speculations upon them,
as one does in Il crowd when they have
nothing better to think of. Presently
the door banged open, and the voice of
some unseen fur ctlonary shouted,
"Change cars for Boston ~
Every body began to scramble their
bags and bundles and canes together,
and there was rush among the few
who remained my fellow passengers.
watched them go without emotion,
and merely settled myself more com
fortably for the solitary journey
''through" which Charlie had indicated
wondering Il little where its termi-
nus might be, but in no wise disturbed
thereat. | stared out at the people for
five minutes lOnger-at least so said
the fat faced clock in the ladies' room
opposite my window, though | made it
fifty ut least by mental calculation,
and then the door swung open again.
This time n head projected itself into
the car. loared, "All out, ,"-evidently
at me and vanished again. 81 won't
get out | replied, defying the empty
air. "Charlie told me to sit still, and
I'm going to. Oh, Charlie, why in the
world don't you come back P'
But no Charlie came to answer me,
and | began to stare out into the
crowd with rather more anxious eyes,
and to grow little hot and uneasy,
and to think, with certain unpleasant
| thrills running down my back, what
would become of me if the train should
start, and Charlie shouldn't come back
at all ? At this awful point in my
meditatiOns, the locomotive gave vent
to an awful screech, which took for IA
pIemonitory symptom of departure,
and was so terrified that | started up
from my seat, just as the little door
swung back for the third time, to ad-
nit of last warning, like that of Friar
Bacon's brazen head. This time the
face re-appeared on a big shaggy
suit of clothes some six feet high,
and was grim, not to say irate, Wis
age.
"Change cars, miss" said the person,
grutiiy. II told you SO twice be-
fore :"
'T'm to sit STILL" replied meekly
I'm going through" l thought this
was the right thing to say, because
Charlie had said it, but it didn't have
the right effect.