Waterbury evening Democrat., 1904-06-10
CHAPTER XII.
WEDDING BELLS.

When the pinks and syringas once
more Sbloomed in Aunt Comforts door
yard, and the lilacs beautified the
weather-worn and moss-covered porch,
there occurred a wedding in the old
orthodox church. Martin would have
preferred it in the one he had endowed.
for the most trifling will and wish of
Angie was now law with him.
| say wedding, and yet rather might
1t have been called Greenvale's testi-
monial to the pair, for never had the
village seen one like 1t. For weeks
almost every one of the gentler sex
was anxiously preparing suitable raj
ment; dressmaker from the city had
been called in for Angie, a trained
quartette and professional musicians
engaged for the grand occasion, and
a carriage and span from Riverton to
convey the united pair away. For two
days dozens of kindly hands iabored to
render the church more beautiful.
Every window was draped with flowers
and foliage, the altar hidden beneath
lilacs and roses, carpet was laid from
street to door, and when the bride
anu s&IUOu1 HTIlNGuy every 4nCu "a
standing room in the church was
packed solid, with scores outside, while
| hardly man, woman, or child In
Greenvale was absent.
Al double row of Angles pupils
|. fianked the carpeted walk. tossing
flowers ahead of her as she entered.
Two more privileged led the way up
the aisle, scattering buds and bios
SONS, while the wedding-song, 20
Promise Me- filled the fragrant air
with divine melody.
Then came a hush; and the few sa-
cred and time-honored words that have
opened the doors Of heavenly JOY or
heartrending sorrow to millions, q
fervent prayer from the lips of Minis
| ter Jones, never before equalled by
him, and a feeling in the hearts of
many that God had entered the temple
with the bridal pair.
Words were weak fifty to describe
such an event and even less so the
moods of all participants. It was a
meeting of the rills of Joy and sor-
row, ever flowing alike from all human
hearts, as well as a union of two finite
beings, and those with gray hair we're
left to mourn. To Angie 1t was q
sacred and solemn step much akin to
the thought of Christ on the cross,
and only by saiperhuman effort did she
/ restrain her tears until the seclusion Of
Aunt Comforts was reached again.
Love to her meant utter self-abnega-
ton and marriage a pledge to live for,
i and If need be, to die for another.
And when the dear old home enclosed
her once more, emotion conquered all
resolution.
I'VE mustn't take on So Aunt Com
fort whispered brokenly, when she
clasped Angie for the final parting,
it'll break my heart when we're gone.
/ We've been great blessin' to me all
these years, m want to see We start
] off happy. It's nat'ral We should, n
when can't see yer face no more,
Il want ter think on I ez smilin'. It's all
that's left me"
Over that hallowed journey to and
through the wilderness where the
streams wound between fir-clad banks,
the waves rippled upon the shores OF
sparkling lakes, the spruce trees played
hide and seek in the campfire light,
and the song-blrds woke them to say
Thank God for this doubly blessed
i existence" veil shall be drawn.
Neither need q question be raised. as
to how she met and cared for that poor
old hermit, or how, at sight Of her
sweet face once more, old Cy felt as II
an angel had entered the forest.
But of those left waiting in Green
vale, good old Aunt Comfort deserves
the last word and shall have It.
For her the sun Of life had almost
set; her heart had rolled away in the
carriage with the child she had reared
1 and she had naught left except memory
and that faded blouse and cap in the
attic chamber. Desolation and heart
hunger were her portion; tears fol.
lowed the wrinkles In her kindly face
and her gray head was bent low in sor-
row.
When life seems most joyous to us
we think not, but when our eyes are
closing and memory fading, it Is
mothers face that hovers over us al
last.
1.-THE ENID