Chapter 11
An Uncle and a Wedding
Dimple was up betimes the next morning. Creeping quietly out of bed, she left Florence sound asleep.
"Mamma," she whispered, softly, as she opened her mamma's door, "what time is it? Has Uncle Heath come?"
"It is half-past six," said her mamma, "and Uncle Heath will be here in half an hour."
"May I put on my blue frock?"
"Yes."
Dimple slipped back, and was not long in dressing. Florence sleepily opened her eyes as Dimple was ready to leave the room.
"Oh Dimple, are you dressed?" she said, sitting up in bed. "Has the bell rung?"
"No," said Dimple, "but Uncle Heath is coming, you know, and I want to meet him. Come down when you are ready."
Florence being wide awake by this time, concluded to get up, and Dimple ran downstairs, patting the baluster with one hand as she went.
When she reached the lowest step she was caught up by a pair of arms, and found her face close to her Uncle Heath's whiskers.
"Oh! Uncle Heath," she cried, "do let me hug you. I am so glad to see you. I'm gladder than anybody."
"I hope not," said her father from the doorway.
"Yes, I am," said Dimple, as her uncle carried her into the parlor, and held her on his knee. "Uncle Heath, are you very happy?"
"Indeed, I am," said he, laughing, as did Dimple's papa and mamma.
"Quite a home thrust," said her papa.
"The reason I asked," she went on, playing with her uncle's watch chain, "is, that I heard papa say the other day, 'I am so glad for dear old Heath.'"
"He has reason to be," responded her uncle. "Dimple, how should you like a new aunt and cousin?"
"Oh, uncle! Is it Rock?"
"Well, not Rock altogether," laughed he. "Rock's mother, as well."
"Please tell me, Uncle Heath."
"So I will, little girl. Rock's mother is going to be your grey-headed uncle's wife. That makes Rock your cousin, doesn't it?"
"Yes," said Dimple, cuddling up to him, "but you are not grey-headed, Uncle Heath, only grey-templed," she said, softly patting each side of his face.
"She seems perfectly satisfied," said he, looking at his brother.
"Perfectly," he answered. "You could not have pleased her better."
"But, Uncle Heath," said Dimple, "I didn't know you knew Mrs. Hardy."
"I knew her long ago, when she wasn't Mrs. Hardy, but Dora West. Long ago," he repeated, gently stroking her hair.
"Why didn't you marry her then?"
"I wanted to," said he, simply, "but I couldn't. Do you want to be bridesmaid, Dimple?"
"Oh, uncle! Could I?"
"Yes, indeed; and Rock groomsman. We are such a young, frivolous couple, we couldn't think of having a grown-up young lady for bridesmaid."
Dimple laughed, and sat in supreme content on her uncle's knee till the breakfast bell rang.
"Florence, I know all about it," she cried, as Florence came in, "and I am going to be bridesmaid, and I know why Uncle Heath is happy, and why Rock can be my cousin. Isn't it lovely?"
Florence looked puzzled, but after a clearer explanation agreed with Dimple that it was "perfectly lovely."
Rock came over after breakfast, with a message for Mrs. Dallas, and Dimple ran out to meet him, crying, "Oh, Rock! your papa is here, and you are going to be my cousin, really and truly. Did you know it?"
"Yes, I knew," said he, "and I'm real glad. Where is Mr. Dallas?"
"My Uncle Heath, or papa?"
"Your Uncle Heath."
"He has gone to see your mamma, I think. And oh, Rock! we are going to be bridesmaids, you and I. No, I mean I am going to be bridesmaid, and you groomsman."
"Yes, and something else I know, too," said Rock. "While mamma goes on her wedding trip I am to come here to stay."
"Oh! Rock," exclaimed Dimple, clapping her hands, "that will be lovely, too. How long?"
"Three days, I think."
"Won't we have good times?" laughed Dimple, dancing up and down. "Do come sit down and talk about it. Are you glad you are going to have my Uncle Heath for your papa?"
"Yes, indeed," said Rock.
"And are you going to live here?"
"No, in Baltimore."
"Oh, dear, that is all that spoils it."
"Never mind," said Rock. "I shouldn't wonder if we were to come here summers, and I'll tell you, Dimple, maybe your mother will let you come visit us next winter, and I will take you sleighing."
That comforted Dimple somewhat.
"Where is the wedding to be? I never thought to ask," said she.
"At church, at half-past nine Thursday morning. Then we come back to your house to breakfast, and mamma and Mr. Dallas go away on the twelve o'clock train."
"When you say Mr. Dallas I think you mean my papa," said Dimple. "I wish you would call Uncle Heath papa."
"But he isn't my papa yet."
"Well, three days doesn't make much difference, and you need only say it to me."
"Well! papa and mamma," said Rock, laughing, "will be back Sunday evening, and Monday we all go away."
"Don't talk about that part of it. I don't want to think of it."
Here Dimple's mamma called her, and she went upstairs. "Wait till I come back, Rock," she said, as she went out, "I want to talk some more."
"What do you want with me, mamma?" she asked as she entered her mamma's room.
"I want to try on your bridesmaid frock."
"Oh, mamma! Is that it?" she exclaimed, as her mamma lifted a soft white mull from the bed.
"Yes, and you are to wear a white hat and carry a basket of flowers. Isn't it odd that my little daughter should be bridesmaid for some one who was once her mamma's bridesmaid, and who used to play with her when she was a little girl?"
Dimple laughed at the idea, as she put her arms through the arm-holes, and said, "It is all so funny, mamma, that I can't straighten it out at all. It is like a fairy tale, and, O! mamma, I look like a fairy in this frock. Isn't it lovely? I wish I might go down and show it to Rock and Florence."
"Very well, you may, only be very careful not to catch it on anything."
"I will be, mamma," and she danced off to display her finery.
"See, Rock! See, Florence! Don't I look almost like a fairy?" she exclaimed, as she went into the library, where they both were sitting, each in a big chair.
"Oh! you do look sweet!" they said, and Dimple smiled and blushed at the praise, quite delighted with herself; but presently she looked at Florence a little gravely, and said:
"Florence, I feel so selfish. Do you care very much that I am to be a bridesmaid, and you not?"
"No, indeed, for I am to be bridesmaid when my sister is married, anyhow, and I would so much rather see it all than to be right in it."
So Dimple went up to take off her frock quite reassured.
"Mamma, what are you going to wear? White, too?" she asked.
"No, grey, with pink roses; and Mrs. Hardy will wear pale lavender and white roses."
"I thought brides always wore white."
"Not always," answered her mamma.
Long before half-past nine on the eventful morning Dimple stood ready, slippers, hat and all; her basket of flowers tied with white ribbons on the piano; and she felt very grand, indeed, when the carriage, with Rock in it, drove around for her. She had been up by daybreak, around to the church with flowers, upstairs to see that her bridesmaid toilet was all right, down into the kitchen to ask Sylvy for a peep at the wedding cake, which, black with fruit inside and white with frosting out, stood on the sideboard.
Then there was the table to see, and little helpful things to do for her mamma, while she arranged it; flowers to gather, a great bowl of fresh roses in the centre.
Then it was such a delight, after she and Florence were dressed, to watch her mamma get ready; to see her dainty laces, and hold her flowers ready for her to pin on.
At last the great moment really arrived, and she found herself stepping up the aisle with Rock, feeling a little embarrassment, though it was a very quiet wedding, only a few near friends being present; but she bore herself very bravely, holding her flower basket very tightly, and keeping time with her slippered feet to the wedding march.
She did not dare even to look at Rock, but kept her eyes steadfastly cast down.
She and Rock were the first to get back to the house, and when the new Mrs. Dallas reached there, Dimple rushed up to her and gave her a frantic hug, calling her "dear Aunt Dora;" then as frantic a hug was bestowed upon her uncle.
She danced through the rooms like a will-o'-the-wisp, hardly willing to sit at the table long enough to eat anything at all.
When the bridal pair drove away to the depot, a shower of rice and old shoes were flung after them by all the children, Bubbles included.
After the house was quiet again, Dimple, Florence and Rock sat talking it all over in the parlor.
"Were you frightened when you walked up the aisle?" asked Florence.
"A little; but I thought about looking at my slippers, and didn't see the people. Did I look all right?"
"Yes; as lovely as possible, and I never should have thought you were frightened. What did you do with the flowers? And, oh Dimple, who had the lovely little figure on top of the cake?"
"I know," said Rock. "I heard mamma tell Dimple's mother that the bridesmaid ought to have that; and I think so, too."
"Oh!" said Dimple. "I think you ought to have it, Rock."
"No, indeed. That would be a fine way to do, I must say. It is to be yours. Mamma said so, and that settles it."
"Well," said Dimple. "But I have so much, it seems to me. Florence, isn't it funny for Rock to have a new papa? Everything turns out so oddly. Don't you know how provoked we were that day when Bubbles told us that mamma was bringing a boy out to see us?"
"And now that boy is your cousin," said Rock.
"Yes; and I am glad, too," replied Dimple, giving his hand a little affectionate pat. "I never knew boys could be so nice, till I saw you."
Rock laughed. "That's a pretty big compliment," he said.
"It isn't a compliment; it's the truth."
"And a compliment can't be the truth, I suppose?"
"Why, I don't know. Can it?"
"Of course; though just flattering words aren't always the truth. I've heard ladies who came to see mamma say, 'What a sweet child your little one is!'" Rock said this very affectedly, and the girls laughed. "And you know," Rock went on, "they didn't know a thing about me; they just said it to make mamma feel pleased, and that's what I call flattery."
"Oh, yes; I think I see," said Dimple.
The three days that followed were very merry ones for the children. They frolicked from morning till night, and did more wonderful things than ever they had dreamed of doing before.
Rock was the nicest sort of comrade, and they got along without any fusses whatever. Sunday was their last day together, for Florence was to go the next day, too, under the care of Mr. and Mrs. Heath Dallas, and her trunk was standing, packed, ready to be sent.
"Won't we have a pew full this morning?" said Dimple, at the breakfast table. "Five people. Rock, you must sit between Florence and me. I can sit next to mamma, and Florence next to papa."
"Oh, no; let me sit by auntie," said Florence.
"Very well," said Dimple. "I can sit by papa just as well, and if I get sleepy I can tumble over on him."
Papa laughed and said it was a pleasant prospect for him.
The church windows were open, a soft breeze fluttered the leaves outside and the slow rustle of fans fluttered bonnet strings inside.
Dimple leaned her head back against the pew, and looked out at the white clouds drifting across the sky, so dreamily and softly; she heard the birds singing in the trees, and now and then came back to a consciousness of the minister's voice, and she caught a sentence here and there; but she could not fix her attention on the sermon at all; she was thinking of the dreaded to-morrow that would take her playmates away from her. The quiet and solemnity of the place only added to the sadness of her thoughts, and as the last hymn was being sung, the tears gathered in her eyes and dropped silently down on her book.
Finally she could stand it no longer, but slipped down on her knees, buried her face in the cushions, and fairly sobbed.
No one knew what was the matter, and Mrs. Dallas looked distressed, fearing she was ill. Mr. Dallas leaned down toward her, and whispered, "Are you ill, Dimple?"
But she shook her head, and when the hymn was ended, he drew her close to him, and put his arm around her, while she kept her face hidden on his shoulder.
No one could tell what ailed her, as every question only brought a fresh burst of tears, and she walked home in silence.
It was not until they were in the house, that she could tell what affected her.
Then her mother took her on her lap, and she had her cry out there, while Florence and Rock, looking much concerned, stood by.
"Tell me, daughter, what ails you," her mother said, pushing back the curls from the little tear-stained face.
"It was so solemn--and--I was thinking about everybody's going away to-morrow," she said, between her sobs. "Then they sang--'Where friend holds fellowship with friend. Though sundered far'--and all that--and I couldn't stand it any longer," and the tears still rained down her face.
At this Florence's eyes filled up, and she put her arms around Dimple, and they cried together, while it took Mrs. Dallas, Rock, and Mr. Dallas, all three, to comfort them.
"You will soon be going to school, Dimple," said her papa, "and then you will have ever so many playmates."
"And you are coming to see us next winter," said Rock.
"And you will have mamma left, anyhow," said her mother, hugging her up close.
So among them all, the tears were dried; and before dinner was over, they were all laughing as joyously as ever.
The only excitement left was to watch for the arrival of Rock's papa and mamma, who were to come that evening.
In the meantime, while Rock and Florence were reading, Dimple heard Bubbles her Sunday lesson. She always taught her one of the hymns she had herself learned, and a Bible verse or two.
Bubbles was not very quick at learning the verses, but delighted in the hymns, and sang them with Dimple, with great vigor.
This afternoon, however, it was quite wearisome to Dimple, for her cry had given her a headache, and she cut the lesson very short so as to get back to Rock and Florence.
"I shouldn't like to be a teacher," she said, throwing herself down on the lounge.
"I should," said Florence. "I love my teacher at school dearly; she is the sweetest, dearest thing, we girls almost fight over her."
"Do you? How funny," said Dimple.
"Why, yes, we take her flowers, and candy, and big apples and oranges; sometimes her desk is full."
"I am afraid I shan't like my teacher," said Dimple.
"Do you know her?"
"Yes, a little; she has been here to tea. She isn't so awful, and I should like her, perhaps, if I didn't know I had to go to school to her."
"Do you know many of the girls?"
"One or two. You saw that girl who sat in front of us at church, she is one."
"You will get used to it real soon," said Rock. "I felt just as you do before I went to school, and it is worse for a boy; the other boys just go for him, and I had a hard time for the first few weeks, but now I like it first-rate."
"It is the getting used to it, that I dread," sighed Dimple; "that has to come first."
"No," said Rock, "papa and mamma come first, and it is nearly time for them now; let's go on the front porch and watch."
"It is so sunny there," said Dimple.
"Not if we sit at the end. Come on."
So they went out and took up positions at the end of the porch.
"I want to see mamma and Gertrude, and all, awfully," said Florence, "but, indeed I hate to leave here," looking around. "I shall miss the trees, and flowers, and all the sweet things."
"So shall I," said Rock. "What a good time we have had this summer."
"Yes. Haven't we?" said Dimple, looking sober.
"Don't talk about it any more," said Rock. "It makes my Cousin Eleanor feel bad."
This made Dimple smile, and presently they saw coming up the street a carriage, which they felt sure would stop.
They all ran down to the gate, and the carriage did draw up by the sidewalk, and Rock was the first to open the door of it, and in another minute was in his mother's arms.
Then they all went into the house, and made ready for tea.
All that evening Dimple sat with one arm around Florence; and, although Rock was so glad to see his mother, he said that he would have Dimple so short a time that he must sit by her, and the three children sat on the steps, Rock holding Dimple's hand and trying his best to cheer her up.
But a more doleful face than appeared at the breakfast table could not be found.
"You must get your Aunt Dora and Florence some nice flowers to take with them," said Mrs. Dallas to Dimple.
"My Aunt Dora! How queer that is, mamma. I have been wondering, is he Rock Hardy or Rock Dallas?"
"He is Rock Hardy."
"I never will get it straight," she said, as she went to get the flowers.
"Uncle Heath," she said, after she had laid the flowers in damp cotton, and put them in boxes, "you may be very happy, but I am not, and I wish you'd leave Rock with me."
He smiled as he looked down at her, and said, "I can't, dear child, but you shall see him often. Baltimore is not very far away."
"Well, I am much obliged to you for making a cousin of him," she said, as she turned away.
"Poor little girl," said he to her mother, "she takes this parting very much to heart."
"Yes," said her mother, "she has never had any very intimate friends, and her cousins have never paid her as long a visit as Florence has this time. As for Rock, he is the only boy she has ever liked at all, and he is a nice boy. You have quite a model son, Heath."
"Yes, I think so too," said he.
At last the trunks were all off, Celestine was dressed in her traveling frock, a grey veil on her hat; the children thought her very stylish.
"Poor Rubina!" sighed Dimple, bravely trying to keep back the tears.
Rock had volunteered to take charge of the two kittens, so Jet and Marble were mewing in a basket.
"And poor little Nyxy, you will be lonely too," said Dimple, hiding her face in his furry coat.
"You will be sure to write to us, won't you Dimple," said Florence, "and tell all about school, and everything."
"I will," said Dimple, choking up.
"Don't cry," said both Rock and Florence, coaxingly.
"No, I will not, I made up my mind not to, because mamma might think I didn't love her," answered Dimple, while her tears slowly trickled down her cheeks.
At last all was ready,--doll, kittens, and boxes, and the good-byes were said. Bubbles and Dimple at the gate waved handkerchiefs as long as they could see the carriage.
Then Dimple turned slowly into the house, unable to keep back the torrent of tears, and after she went into the library she buried her face in the sofa pillow, sobbing aloud; then she felt a pair of arms clasp her knees and saw two tearful black eyes looking up into her face, while Bubbles' caressing voice said, "Never min', Miss Dimple, I'se hyah."
MOTOR CYCLE SERIES
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THE MOTOR RANGERS' LOST MINE.
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THE DREADNOUGHT BOYS ABOARD A DESTROYER.
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To the inventive genius--trade-school boy or mechanic--this story has special charm, perhaps, but to every reader its mystery and clever action are fascinating.
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FRANK ARMSTRONG'S VACATION.
How Frank's summer experience with his boy friends make him into a sturdy young athlete through swimming, boating, and baseball contests, and a tramp through the Everglades, is the subject of this splendid story.
FRANK ARMSTRONG AT QUEENS.
We find among the jolly boys at Queen's School, Frank, the student-athlete, Jimmy, the baseball enthusiast, and Lewis, the unconsciously-funny youth who furnishes comedy for every page that bears his name. Fall and winter sports between intensely rival school teams are expertly described.
FRANK ARMSTRONG'S SECOND TERM.
The gymnasium, the track and the field make the background for the stirring events of this volume, in which David, Jimmy, Lewis, the "Wee One" and the "Codfish" figure, while Frank "saves the day."
FRANK ARMSTRONG, DROP KICKER.
With the same persistent determination that won him success in swimming, running and baseball playing, Frank Armstrong acquired the art of "drop kicking," and the Queen's football team profits thereby.
Any volume sent postpaid upon receipt of price.
HURST & COMPANY--Publishers--NEW YORK
OAKDALE ACADEMY SERIES
Stories of Modern School Sports By MORGAN SCOTT. Cloth Bound. Illustrated. Price, 60c. per vol., postpaid
BEN STONE AT OAKDALE.
Under peculiarly trying circumstances Ben Stone wins his way at Oakdale Academy, and at the same time enlists our sympathy, interest and respect. Through the enmity of Bern Hayden, the loyalty of Roger Eliot and the clever work of the "Sleuth," Ben is falsely accused, championed and vindicated.
BOYS OF OAKDALE ACADEMY.
"One thing I will claim, and that is that all Grants fight open and square and there never was a sneak among them." It was Rodney Grant, of Texas, who made the claim to his friend, Ben Stone, and this story shows how he proved the truth of this statement in the face of apparent evidence to the contrary.
RIVAL PITCHERS OF OAKDALE.
Baseball is the main theme of this interesting narrative, and that means not only clear and clever descriptions of thrilling games, but an intimate acquaintance with the members of the teams who played them. The Oakdale Boys were ambitious and loyal, and some were even disgruntled and jealous, but earnest, persistent work won out.
OAKDALE BOYS IN CAMP.
The typical vacation is the one that means much freedom, little restriction, and immediate contact with "all outdoors." These conditions prevailed in the summer camp of the Oakdale Boys and made it a scene of lively interest.
THE GREAT OAKDALE MYSTERY.
The "Sleuth" scents a mystery! He "follows his nose." The plot thickens! He makes deductions. There are surprises for the reader--and for the "Sleuth," as well.
NEW BOYS AT OAKDALE.
A new element creeps into Oakdale with another year's registration of students. The old and the new standards of conduct in and out of school meet, battle, and cause sweeping changes in the lives of several of the boys.
Any volume sent postpaid upon receipt of price.
HURST & COMPANY--Publishers--NEW YORK