CHAPTER XIII.
THE DOLLS' CHRISTMAS WEDDING.
On Christmas Eve Mrs. Rowe came down-stairs to see the Christmas-tree that aunt Clara had arranged; and, to please Weezy, nurse brought the baby.
It must be admitted that the little fellow behaved abominably; making up faces at everybody, and even squaring his fists at the lovely silver mug presented to him, as if he scorned the name of Donald Rowe that Santa Claus had had engraved upon it. But then, as Weezy justly remarked, baby was not used to company.
Everybody else fully enjoyed the wonderful tree, laden with gifts. There was a dark merino for Ellen Nolan, an overcoat for Jimmy Maguire, and a great package of books for the minister, Mr. Cutler. There was a nice work-box for Lovisa, a warm red shawl for Pocahontas, and a lovely picture-book for Kisty, beside gifts without number for the Wymans and Rowes.
But what captivated Weezy more than all these things was the sight of two dolls sitting under the tree side by side. One was Viola Maud, gorgeously arrayed in a party dress of pink satin; and the other was an elegant little bachelor in a black broadcloth suit, with white waistcoat and gloves, and a watch no bigger than a buttercup.
"Oh, oh, oh! the _beau_tiful, _beau_tiful dollies!" cried she, dropping on her knees before them. "O Molly, _do_ you s'pect they're for me?"
"Yes, yes, every bit of 'em," replied Molly, almost as excited as Weezy. "And here are Viola Maud's clothes. Mamma cut 'em out, and I sewed 'em, all but the button-holes."
"Oh, you _are_ a darling sister! Oh, what a beautiful little trunk!"
"Kirke bought you that. Doesn't it look for all the world like aunt Clara's big Saratoga?"
Weezy pulled out the garments, one by one, uttering little squeals of delight, and hopping up every other moment to kiss Kirke and Molly. The trunk contained six complete suits, not counting the red jersey jacket; and by changing about,--putting the polonaise of one dress over the skirt of another,--Viola Maud, you see, could have two different gowns for each day in the week.
Then there were half a dozen hats of the latest mode, and handkerchiefs of real lace, beside two sets of under-garments all ruffled and tucked. Certainly it was a fine outfit for a little girl of eleven to fashion, and Molly deserved much credit.
Before the presents were taken from the tree, Kisty was brought over to see it; and Kirke and Molly told her and Weezy all about the marvellous doll-wedding to be celebrated on the morrow, and how Kirke was going round early in the morning to invite the wedding guests.
"He'll bring me a card too," thought Kisty, delighted; "and I never had a wedding-card in all my life."
Christmas dawned clear and bright; and after breakfast Kirke and Molly bustled off to one corner of the library, with an air of great importance.
"Are you sure you've printed invitations enough?" asked Molly anxiously.
"Hoh, yes. Here they are,--one, two, three, four, five, six, seven," said Kirke, counting over the cream-tinted correspondence cards in his hand.
They were dainty affairs, and read in this way:--
_Miss Weezy Rowe Requests the pleasure of your presence At the Marriage of her Doll, Viola Maud, To Mr. Clarence Osborne, On Christmas, at 3 o'clock P.M. 6 Oak Street. P.S. Please bring all your Dolls._
Molly had hesitated about the postscript, but had finally concluded it would be safer to add it.
While she was trying her pen, Kirke slipped the seven cream-tinted cards into their seven cream-tinted envelopes, each bearing the monogram R. O., which of course meant Rowe and Osborne.
Then Molly carefully addressed these envelopes to the seven little girls that Weezy knew best, and laid them in a pretty willow basket, with a white satin bow on top.
When they were ready, Kirke took the basket, and went out to deliver them. From her mother's room Kisty Nye saw him coming down the street, and her heart went pit-a-pat. But alack and alas! Kirke walked straight by, and never turned his head!
He left an invitation for Jenny Lancey right opposite, and one for Matty Lee at the corner; and after that he came back by the house to leave one on Elm Street for that snip of a Dolly Wright, whom Weezy hardly knew at all!
Kisty had been so sure she herself should be invited. And why not? Oh, it was very, very hard! No wonder she nearly cried her eyes out, and at dinner left her pudding untasted, feeling that this was a very cruel world for a little girl only six years old.
Quarter of three came at last; and as Molly remarked, it was almost late enough to begin the wedding.
She and Kirke had got all the old dolls together in a row on the sitting-room lounge, to represent Viola Maud's "poor relations," when Jenny Lancey rushed in, exclaiming, "O Molly, did you mean to leave out Kisty Nye? She feels dreadfully because she isn't invited."
"I did invite her; I invited Kisty Nye first of any," cried Molly, flying across the room in wild excitement. "Kirke Rowe, you've gone and forgotten to give Kisty her invitation. You naughty, horrid boy! I think you're just as"--
Molly bit her lips, trembling with anger, and began to cry.
"Oh, dear, dear!" sobbed she, in quite a different tone, "you've made me lose my temper again. O Kirke! how could you, when I promised mamma I'd try to be sweet for baby's sake?"
"I delivered every note there was in the basket, so now," said Kirke sulkily.
"Who came to the door at Mr. Nye's? Was it the girl?"
"I don't know; I don't believe I went there," said Kirke, considering. "I'll go and see."
"Wait, wait," said Jenny. "Take Kisty a card, can't you? She'll be mad, not to have one like the rest of us."
"I didn't print but seven," said Kirke.
"Well, I'll write her one; she won't know the difference," returned Molly, running into the library, and dragging out her desk.
As she lifted the lid, the first thing she saw was a cream-tinted envelope, so plainly directed to Kisty Nye that grandma herself might have read it without her spectacles.
"There, miss, who's to blame now?" cried Kirke triumphantly, peeping into the envelope to make sure the card was in it.
The next moment the front-door slammed, and he was racing down the street bareheaded, to bring Kisty; for, dearly as he loved to tease, he could not bear to have anybody made unhappy.
You may be sure Mrs. Nye was not long in putting on her little daughter's hood and cloak; and the rest of the wedding guests had hardly assembled before Kirke and Kisty appeared among them, Kisty's happy face beaming with smiles.
There was a hush in the room, when the doll bride and bridegroom, supported by Molly, entered arm in arm, and took the places in the bay-window, beneath a marriage-bell of Christmas evergreen. The bride wore a white satin gown, with a most extravagant train; and her long lace veil was fastened with a wreath of fine white flowers, supposed to be dwarf orange-blossoms.
She stood gazing straight at the minister, while the bridegroom leaned toward her with an affectionate stare, his left hand grasping a cambric handkerchief, with which to dry her eyes in case she should shed tears during the trying ceremony.
Kirke, in his father's best white necktie, officiated as clergyman; and as Viola Maud could only say "papa" and "mamma," and as Clarence Osborne was too much stuffed to speak at all, Molly had to make the responses for both parties.
"Do you, Clarence Osborne, take this woman to be your _awful_ wedded wife?" began the acting minister, in a tone of deep solemnity.
"I do," squeaked a faint voice, while the bridegroom bowed with all his might.
"Do you, Viola Maud, take this man to be your _awful_ wedded husband?"
"I do," answered a voice still fainter; and the bride's head bent gently, like a flower caressed by a butterfly.
"Then," said the minister clearing his throat, "I pronounce you man and wife."
The nervous strain was over at last, but it had been too much for the sensitive bride. As the bridegroom turned to salute her, she tottered and fell fainting into his arms.
Fortunately, Molly, foreseeing such a catastrophe, had provided herself with a smelling-bottle, which she now held to the nostrils of the swooning little lady.
"Mrs. Osborne" was kind enough to revive very soon, and to receive the congratulations of the guests crowding about her; and it was observed, in her praise, that she greeted her "poor relations" just as cordially as she did the most richly attired doll in the room.
Afterwards Weezy and Kisty passed around the wedding-cake and the bride's-cake; and Molly and Kirke brought in hot chocolate in pretty little china cups, that all might drink to the health of the bride and bridegroom.
Oh, it was a lovely, lovely afternoon! And its close was better than its beginning; for the little girls and their dolls were taken home in Dr. Wyman's great double sleigh, in which Mr. and Mrs. Osborne had set out on their honeymoon trip.
And so ended the dolls' Christmas wedding.
* * * * *
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