CHAPTER XXV
A STOUT LITTLE CABIN
Christmas morning! and the bells in St. Luke's pealing the great oldhymn, dear for scores of years to those who had heard it chiming fromthe ivy-grown towers--"_Adeste, Fideles_."
_"Oh, come, all ye faithful, joyful and triumphant!"_
Joyful and triumphant, indeed, though yet subdued and humble, since thisparadox may be at times in human hearts, was Richard Kendrick, as hestood waiting in the vestibule of St. Luke's, on Christmas morning, fora tryst he had made. Not with Roberta, for it was not possible for herto be present to-day, but with Ruth Gray, that young sister who hadbecome so like a sister by blood to Richard that, at her suggestion, ithad seemed to him the happiest thing in the world to go to church withher on Christmas morning--the morning of the day which was to see hismarriage.
The Gray homestead was full of wedding guests, the usual family guestsof the Christmas house-party. On the evening before had occurred theChristmas dance, and Richard had led the festivities, with hisbride-elect at his side. It had been a glorious merry-making and hispulses had thrilled wildly to the rapture of it. But to-day--to-day wasanother story.
A slender young figure, in brown velvet with a tiny twig of hollyperched among furry trimmings, hurried up the steps and into thevestibule. Richard met Ruth halfway, his face alight, his hand claspinghers eagerly.
"I'm so sorry I am late," she whispered. "Oh, it's so fine of you tocome. Isn't it a lovely, lovely way to begin this Day--your and Rob'sday, too?"
He nodded, smiling down at her with eyes full of brotherly affection fora most lovable girl. He followed her into the church and took his placebeside her, feeling that he would rather be here, just now, thananywhere in the world.
It must be admitted that he hardly heard the service, except for themusic, which was of a sort to make its own way into the most abstractedconsciousness. But the quiet spirit of the place had its effect uponhim, and when he knelt beside Ruth it seemed the most natural thing inthe world to form a prayer in his heart that he might be a fit husbandfor the wife he was so soon to take to himself. Once, during a longperiod of kneeling, Ruth's hand slipped shyly into his, and he held itfast, with a quickening perception of what it meant to have a pure youngspirit like hers beside him in this sacred hour. His soul was full ofhigh resolve to be a son and brother to this rare family into which hewas entering such as might do them honour. For it was a very significantfact that to him the people who stood nearest to Roberta were of greatconsequence; and that a source of extraordinary satisfaction to him,from the first, had been his connection with a family which seemed tohim ideal, and association with which made up to him for much of whichhis life had been empty.
A proof of this had been his invitation, through his grandfather, whohad warmly seconded his wish, to Mr. and Mrs. Rufus Gray, to come andstay with the Kendricks throughout this Christmas party, precisely asthey had done the year before. To have Aunt Ruth preside at breakfast onthis auspicious morning had given Richard the greatest pleasure, and thekiss he had bestowed upon her had been one which she recognized as verylike the tribute of a son. From her side he had gone to St. Luke's.
"Good-bye, dear, for a few hours," he whispered to Ruth, as he put herinto the brougham, driven by the old family coachman, in which she hadcome alone to church. "When I see you next I'll be almost your brother.And in just a few minutes after that--"
"Oh, Richard--are you happy?" she whispered back, scanning his face withbrimming eyes.
"So happy I can't tell even you. Give my love, my dearest love, to--"
"I will--" as he paused on the name, as if he could not speak it justthen. "She was so glad to have us go to church together. She wanted tocome herself--so much."
He pressed the small gloved hand held out to him. He knew that Ruthidealized him far beyond his worth--he could read it in her gaze, whichwas all but reverential. He said to himself, as he turned away, that aman never had so many motives to be true to the girl he was to marry. Tobring the first shade of distrust into this little sister's tender eyeswould be punishment enough for any disloyalty, no matter what the causemight be.
The wedding was to be at six o'clock. There was nothing about the wholeaffair, as it had been planned by Roberta, with his full assent, to makeit resemble any event of the sort in which he had ever taken part. Notone consideration of custom or of vogue had had weight with her, if itdiffered from her carefully wrought-out views of what should be. Herruling idea had been to make it all as simple and sincere as possible,to invite no guests outside her large family and his small one exceptsuch personal friends as were peculiarly dear to both. When Richard hadbeen asked to submit his list of these, he had been taken aback to findhow pitifully few people he could put upon it. Half a dozen collegeclassmates, a small number of fellow clubmen--these painstakinglyconsidered from more than one standpoint--the Cartwrights, his cousins,whom he really knew but indifferently well; two score easily covered thenumber of those whom by any stretch of the imagination he could callfriends. The long roll of his fashionable acquaintance he dismissed asout of the question. If he had been married in church there would havebeen several hundreds of these who must unquestionably have been bidden;but since Roberta wanted as she put it, "only those who truly care forus," he could but choose those who seemed to come somewhere near thatideal. To be quite honest, he was aware that his real friends were amongthose who could not be bidden to his marriage. The crippled children inthe hospitals; the suffering poor who would send him their blessing whenthey read in to-morrow's paper that he was married; the shop-people inEastman who knew him for the kindest employer they had ever had:--thesewere they who "truly cared"; and the knowledge was warm at his heart, aswith a ruthless hand he scored off names of the mighty in the world ofsociety and finance.
"Dick, my boy, you've grown--you've grown!" was his grandfather'scomment, when Richard, with a rueful laugh, had shown the old man thefinished list, upon which, well toward the top, had been the names ofMr. and Mrs. Alfred Carson. Of Hugh Benson, as best man, MatthewKendrick heartily approved. "You've chosen the nugget of pure gold,Dick," he said, "where you might have been expected to take one withconsiderable alloy. He's worth all the others put together."
Richard had never realized this more thoroughly than when, on Christmasafternoon, he invited Benson to drive with him for a last inspection ofa certain spot which had been prepared for the reception of the bridalpair at the first stage of their journey. He could not, as Hugh took hisplace beside him and the two whirled away down the frost-covered avenue,imagine asking any other man in the world to go with him on such avisit. There was no other man he knew who would not have made it theoccasion for more or less distasteful raillery; but Hugh Benson was ofthe rarely few, he felt, who would understand what that "stout littlecabin" meant to him.
They came upon it presently, standing bleak and bare as to exterior uponits hilltop, with only a streaming pillar of smoke from its big chimneyto suggest that it might be habitable within. But when the heavy doorwas thrown open, an interior of warmth and comfort presented itself suchas brought an exclamation of wonder from the guest, and made Richard'seyes shine with satisfaction.
The long, low room had been furnished simply but fittingly with suchhangings, rugs, and few articles of furniture as should suggesthome-likeness and service. Before the wide hearth stood two big wingedchairs, and a set of bookshelves was filled with a carefully chosencollection of favourite books. The colourings were warm but harmonious,and upon a heavy table, now covered with a rich, dull red cloth, stood alamp of generous proportions and beauty of design.
"I've tried to steer a line between luxury and austerity," Richardexplained, as Hugh looked about him with pleased observation. "We shallnot be equipped for real roughing it--not this time, though sometimes wemay like to come here dressed as hunters and try living on bare boards.I just wanted it to seem like a bit of home, when she comes in to-night.There'll be some flowers here then, of course--lots of them, and thatought to give
it the last touch. There are always flowers in her home,bowls of them, everywhere--it was one of the first things I noticed. Doyou think she will like it here?" he ended, with a hint of almost boyishdiffidence in his tone.
"Like it? It's wonderful. I never heard of anything so--so--all itshould be for--a girl like her," Hugh exclaimed, lamely enough, yet witha certain eloquence of inflection which meant more than his choice ofwords. He turned to Richard. "I can't tell you," he went on, flushingwith the effort to convey to his friend his deep feeling, "how fortunateI think you are, and how I hope--oh, I hope you and she will be--thehappiest people in the world!"
"I'm sure you hope that, old fellow," Richard answered, more touched bythis difficult voicing of what he knew to be Hugh's genuine devotionthan he should have been by the most felicitous phrasing of another'scongratulations. "And I can tell you this. There's nobody else I knowwhom I would have brought here to see my preparations--nobody else whowould have understood how I feel about--what I'm doing to-day. I nevershould have believed it would have seemed so--well, so sacred a thing totake a girl away from all the people who love her, and bring her to aplace like this. I wish--wish I were a thousand times more fit for her."
"Rich Kendrick--" Benson was taken out of himself now. His voice wasslightly tremulous, but he spoke with less difficulty than before. "Youare fitter than you know. You've developed as I never thought any mancould in so short a time. I've been watching you and I've seen it. Therewas always more in you than people gave you credit for--it was yourinheritance from a father and grandfather who have meant a great deal intheir world. You've found out what you were meant for, and you're comingup to new and finer standards every day. You _are_ fit to take thisgirl--and that means much, because I know a little of what a--" Now _he_was floundering again, and his fine, then face flamed more hotly thanbefore--"of what she is!" he ended, with a complete breakdown in thestyle of his phraseology, but with none at all in the conveyance of hismeaning.
Richard flung out his hand, catching Hugh's, and gripping it. "Bless youfor a friend and a brother!" he cried, his eyes bright with suddenmoisture. "You're another whom I mustn't disappoint. Disappoint? I oughtto be flayed alive if I ever forget the people who believe in me--whoare trusting me with--Roberta!"
It was a pity she could not have heard him speak her name, have seen theway he looked at his friend as he spoke it, and have seen the way hisfriend looked back at him. There was a quality in their mentioning ofher, here in this place where she was soon to be, which was its owntribute to the young womanhood she so radiantly imaged.
In spite of all these devices to make the hours pass rapidly, theyseemed to Richard to crawl. That one came, at last, however, which sawhim knocking at the door of his grandfather's suite, dressed for hismarriage, and eager to depart. Bidden by Mr. Kendrick's man to enter, hepresented himself in the old gentleman's dressing-room, where itsoccupant, as scrupulously attired as himself, stood ready to descend tothe waiting car. Richard closed the door behind him, and stood lookingat his grandfather with a smile.
"Well, Dick, boy--ready? Ah, but you look fresh and fine! Clean in bodyand mind and heart for her--eh? That's how you look, sir--as a manshould look--and feel--on his wedding day. Well, she's worth it,Dick--worth the best you can give."
"Worth far better than I can give, grandfather," Richard responded, theglow in his smooth cheek deepening.
"Well, I don't mean to overrate you," said the old man, smiling, "butyou seem to me pretty well worth while any girl's taking. Not that youcan't become more so--and will, I thoroughly believe. It's not so muchwhat you've done this last year as what you show promise of doing--greatpromise. That's all one can ask at your age. Ten years later--but wewon't go into that. To-night's enough--eh, my dear boy? My dear boy!"he repeated, with a sudden access of tenderness in his voice. Then, asif afraid of emotion for them both, he pressed his grandson's hand andabruptly led the way into the outer room, where Thompson stood waitingwith his fur-lined coat and muffler.
From this point on it seemed to Richard more or less like a rapidlyshifting series of pictures, all wonderfully coloured. The first wasthat of the electric light of the big car's interior shining on thefaces of Uncle Rufus and Aunt Ruth, on Mr. Kendrick and Hugh Benson--thelatter a little pale but quite composed. Hugh had owned that he feltseriously inadequate for the role which was his to-night, being nosociety man and unaccustomed to taking conspicuous parts anywhere but inbusiness. But Richard had assured him that it was all a very simplematter, since it was just a question of standing by a friend in thecrisis of his life! And Hugh had responded that it would be a pityindeed if he were unwilling to do that.
The next picture was that of the wide hall at the Gray home--as he cameinto it a vivid memory flashed over Richard of his first entrancethere--less honoured than to-night! Soft lights shone upon him; thespicy fragrance of the ropes and banks of Christmas "greens," brightwith holly, saluted his nostrils; and the glimpse of a great fireburning, quite as usual, on the broad hearth of the living-room--a placewhich had long since come to typify his ideal of a home--served to makehim feel that there could be no spot more suitable for the beginning ofa new home, because there could be nothing in the world finer or morebeautiful to model it upon.
Nothing seemed afterward clear in his memory until the moment when hecame from his room upstairs, with Hugh close behind him, and met therector of St. Luke's, who was to marry him. There followed a hazyimpression of a descent of the staircase, of coming from a detourthrough the library out into the full lights and of standinginterminably facing a large gathering of people, the only face at whichhe could venture to glance that of Judge Calvin. Gray, standingdignified and stately beside another figure of equal dignity andstateliness--probably that of Mr. Matthew Kendrick. Then, at last--therewas Roberta, coming toward him down a silken lane, her eyes fixed onhis--such eyes, in such a face! He fixed his own gaze upon it, and heldit--and forgot everything else, as he had hoped he should. Then therewere the grave words of the clergyman, and his own voice responding--andsounding curiously unlike his own, of course, as the voice of thebridegroom has sounded in his own ears since time began. ThenRoberta's--how clearly she spoke, bless her! Then, before he knew it, itwas done, and he and she were rising from their knees, and there weresmiles and pleasant murmurings all about them--and little Ruth wassobbing softly with her cheek against his!
It was here that he became conscious again of the family--Roberta'sfamily, and of what it meant to have such people as these welcome himinto their circle. When he looked into the face of Roberta's mother andfelt her tender welcoming kiss upon his lips, his heart beat hard withjoy. When Roberta's father, his voice deep with feeling, said to him,"Welcome to our hearts, my son," he could only grasp the firm hand withan answering, passionate pressure which meant that he had at last thatwhich he had consciously or unconsciously longed for all his life. Alldown the line his overcharged spirit responded to the warmth of theirreception of him--Stephen and Rosamond, Louis and Ruth and young Ted,smiling at him, saying the kindest things to him, making him one of themas only those can who are blessed with understanding natures. To besure, it was all more or less confused in his memory, when he tried torecall it afterward, but enough of it remained vivid to assure him thatit had been all he could have asked or hoped--and that it was far, farmore than he deserved!
"The boy bears up pretty well, eh?" observed old Matthew Kendrick to hislifelong friend, Judge Calvin Gray, as the two stood aside, having gonethrough their own part in the greeting of the bridal pair. Mr.Kendrick's hand was still tingling with the wringing grip of hisgrandson's; his heart was warm with the remembrance of the way Richard'sbrilliant eyes had looked into his as he had said, low in the old man'sear--"I'm not less yours, grandfather--and she's yours, too." Robertahad put both arms about his neck, whispering: "Indeed I am, deargrandfather--if you'll have me." Well, it had been happiness enough,and it was good to watch them as they went on with their joyous task,knowing that he had a large share in their live
s, and would continue tohave it.
"Bears up? I should say he did. He looks as if he could assist insteadying the world upon the shoulders of old Atlas," answered JudgeGray happily. "It's a trying position for any man, and some of them onlyjust escape looking craven."
"The man who could stand beside that young woman and look craven woulddeserve to be hamstrung," was the other's verdict. "Cal, she's enough toturn an old man's head; we can't wonder that a young one's is swimming.And the best of it is that it isn't all looks, it's real beauty to thecore. She's rich in the qualities that stand wear in a wearingworld--and her goodness isn't the sort that will ever pall on herhusband. She'll keep him guessing to the end of time, but the answerwill always give him fresh delight in her."
"You analyze her well," admitted Roberta's uncle. "But that's to beexpected of a man who's been a pastmaster all his life in understandingand dealing with human nature."
"When it was not too near me, Cal. When it came to the dearest thingI had in the world, I made a mistake with it. It was only when the boycame under this roof that he received the stimulus that has made himwhat he is. That was sure to tell in the end."
"Ah, but he had your blood in him," declared Calvin Gray heartily.
Thus, all about them, in many quarters, were the young pairaffectionately discussed. Not the least eloquent in their praise werethe youngest members of the company.
"I say, but I'm proud of my new brother," declared Ted Gray, the pictureof youthful elegance, with every hair in place, and a white rose on thelapel of his short evening-jacket. He was playing escort to theprettiest of his girl cousins. "Isn't he a stunner to-night?"
"He always was--that is, since I've known him," responded Esther, UnclePhilip's daughter. "I can't help laughing when I think of the Christmasparty last year, and how Rob made us all think he was a poor young man,and she didn't like him at all. All of us girls thought she was so queernot to want to dance with him, when he was so handsome and danced sobeautifully. I suppose she was just pretending she didn't care for him."
"Nobody ever'll know when Rob did change her mind about him," Tedassured her. "She can make you think black's green when she wants to."
"Isn't she perfectly wonderful to-night?" sighed the pretty cousin, witha glance from her own home-made frock--in which, however, she lookedlike a freshly picked rose--to Roberta's bridal gown, shimmering throughmistiness, simplicity itself, yet, as the little cousin well knew, theproduct of such art as she herself might never hope to command. "Ialways thought she was perfectly beautiful, but she's absolutelyfascinating to-night."
"Tell that to Rich. I'm afraid he doesn't appreciate her," laughed Ted,indicating his new brother-in-law, who, at the moment being temporarilyunemployed, was to be observed following his bride with his eyes with awistful gaze indicating helplessness without her even for a fraction oftime.
Roberta had been drawn a little away by her husband's best man, who hadsomething to tell her which he had reserved for this hour.
"Mrs. Kendrick," he was beginning--at which he was bidden to rememberthat he had known the girl Roberta for many years; and so began again,smiling with gratitude:
"Roberta, have you any idea what is happening in Eastman to-night?"
"Indeed I haven't, Hugh. Anything I ought to know of?"
"I think it's time you did. Every employee in our store is sitting downto a great dinner, served by a caterer from this city, with a Christmasfavour at every plate. The place cards have a K and G on them inmonogram. There are such flowers for decorations as most of those peoplenever saw. I don't need to tell you whose doing this is."
He had the reward he had anticipated for the telling of thisnews--Roberta's cheek coloured richly, and her eyes fell for a momentto hide the surprise and happiness in them.
"That may seem like enough," he went on gently, "but it wasn't enoughfor him. At every children's hospital in this city, and in everychildren's ward, there is a Christmas tree to-night, loaded with gifts.And I want you to know that, busy as he has been until to-day, he pickedout every gift himself, and wrote the name on the card with his ownhand."
It was too much to tell her all at once, and he knew it when he saw hereyes fill, though she smiled through the shining tears as she murmured:
"And he didn't tell me!"
"No, nor meant to. When I remonstrated with him he said you might thinkit a posing to impress you, whereas it simply meant the overflow of hisown happiness. He said if he didn't have some such outlet he shouldburst with the pressure of it!"
Her moved laughter provided some sort of outlet for her own pressure offeeling about these tidings. When she had recovered control of herselfshe turned to glance toward her husband, and Hugh's heart stirred withinhim at the starry radiance of that look, which she could not veilsuccessfully from him, who knew the cause of it.
It was the Alfred Carsons who came to her last; the young managerbeaming with pleasure in the honour done him by his invitation to thisfamily wedding, to which the great of the city were mostly intentionallyunbidden; his pretty young wife, in effective modishness of attire by nomeans ill-chosen, glowing with pride and rosy with the effort tocomport herself in keeping with the standards of these "democraticallyaristocratic" people, as her husband had shrewdly characterized them. Asthey stood talking with the bride, two of Richard's friends standingnear by, former close associates in the life of the clubs he was now toobusy to pursue, exchanged a brief colloquy which would mightily haveinterested the subject of it if he could have heard it.
"Who are these?" demanded one of the other, gazing elsewhere as hespoke.
"Partner or manager or something, in that business of Rich's up inEastman. So Belden Lorimer says."
"Bright looking chap--might be anybody, except for the wife. A bit tooconscious, she."
"You might not notice that except in contrast with the new Mrs.Kendrick. There's the real thing, yes? Rich knew what he was doing whenhe picked her out."
"Undoubtedly he did. The whole family's pretty fine--not the usual sort.Watch Mrs. Clifford Cartwright. Even she's impressed. Odd, eh?--with allthe country cousins about, too."
"I know. It's in the air. And of course everybody knows the family bloodis of the bluest. Unostentatious but sure of itself. The Cartwrightscouldn't get that air, not in a thousand years."
"Rich himself has it, though--and the grandfather."
"True enough. I'm wondering which class we belong in!"
The two laughed and moved closer. Neither could afford to miss a chanceof observing their old friend under these new conditions, for he hadbeen a subject of their speculations ever since the change in him hadbegun. And though they had deplored the loss of him from their favouritehaunts, they had been some time since forced to admit that he had neverbeen so well worth knowing as now that he was virtually lost to them.
"Oh, Robby, darling--I can never, never let you go!"
So softly wailed Ruth, her slim young form clinging to her sister's,regardless of her bridesmaid's crushed finery, daintily cherished tillthis moment. Over her head Roberta's eyes looked into her mother's.There were no tears in the fine eyes which met hers, but somehow Robertaknew that Ruth's heartache was a tiny pain beside that other's.
Richard, looking on, standing ready to take his bride away, wonderedonce more within himself how he could have the heart to do it. But itwas done, and he and Roberta were off together down the steps; and hewas putting her into Mr. Kendrick's closed car; and she was leaning pasthim to wave and wave again at the dear faces on the porch. Under thelights here and there one stood out more clearly than the rest--Louis's,flushed and virile; Rosamond's, lovely as a child's; old Mr. Kendrick's,intent and grave, forgetting to smile. The father and the mother were inthe shadow--but little Gordon, Stephen's boy, made of himself a centralfigure by running forward at the last to fling up a sturdy arm and cry:
"Good-bye, Auntie Wob--come back soon!"
It had been a white Christmas, and the snow had fallen lightly all daylong. It was coming f
aster now, and the wind was rising, to Richard'sintense satisfaction. He had been fairly praying for a gale, improbablethough that seemed. There was a considerable semblance of a storm,however, through which to drive the twelve miles to the waiting cabin onthe hilltop, and when the car stopped and the door was opened, a heavygust came swirling in. The absence of lights everywhere made thedarkness seem blacker, out here in the country, and the general effectof outer desolation was as near this strange young man's desire as couldhave been hoped.
"Good driving, Rogers. It was a quick trip, in spite of the heavy roadsat the last. Thank you--and good-night."
"Thank you, sir. Good-night, Mr. Kendrick--and Mrs. Kendrick, if I may."
"Good-night, Rogers," called the voice Rogers had learned greatly toadmire, and he saw her face smiling at him as the lights of the carstreamed out upon it.
Then the great car was gone, and Richard was throwing open the door ofthe cabin, letting all the warmth and glow and fragrance of the snuginterior greet his bride, as he led her in and shut the door with aresounding force against the winter night and storm.
It had been a dream of his that he should put her into one of the big,cushioned, winged chairs, and take his own place on the hearth-rug ather feet. Together they should sit and look into the fire, and be assilent or as full of happy speech as might seem to befit the hour. Now,when he had bereft her of her furry wraps and welcomed her as he sawfit, he made his dream come true. He told her of it as he put her in herchair, and saw her lean back against the comfortable cushioning with along breath of inevitable weariness after many hours of tension.
"And you wondered which it would be, speech or silence?" queriedRoberta, as he took that place he had meant to take, at her knee, andlooked up, smiling, into her down-bent face.
"I did wonder, but I don't wonder now. I know. There aren't any words,are there?"
"No," she answered, looking now into the fire, yet seeing, as clearly asbefore, his fine and ardent, yet reverent face, "I think there are nowords."
The Twenty-Fourth of June: Midsummer's Day Page 25