CHAPTER IX.

BARBARA's WEDDING.

Barbara had now been at home for some time making preparations for her wedding, and had cordially invited all the children to see her married,--Grace, Cassy, Prudy and Horace; everybody but little "Ruffle-neck," as Horace sometimes called the baby.

They set out in the morning in high spirits, Grace and Cassy walking under one umbrella, Horace and Prudy under another. Prudy was bareheaded, and her "killing little curls" were blown into wild confusion by the breezes.

The June air was very sweet, for it was "snowing roses." Prudy asked Horace if he didn't think "the world smelt nice?" Horace put on a look of calm superiority, and replied that "the flowers were very much like essence bottles, to be sure, what we call _odiferous_, Prudy."

Some way behind the two children sailed the other umbrella, marked, in white paint, "Stolen from H. S. Clifford;" while under it Grace and Cassy talked confidentially.

Prudy had heard they were going to a place called the Bayou, and supposed it to be some sort of a house. But after a walk of two miles, they came to an immense field, where the corn shot up very tall and luxuriant.

"There's the bayou over yonder," laid Horace, with a sweep of his thumb.

"Where?" said Prudy, straining her eyes. "I don't see a single thing but sugar-canes."

"_Corn_, you mean! Well, it's a bayou, and the water runs up over it in the spring, and that makes bottom-land rich as mud."

Prudy stared at the cornfield, then at the river.

"You don't mean that that little thing went over it," said she, waving her hat towards the Ohio.

"Poh! you needn't think our river looks that way," dropping the umbrella over his shoulder. "Tell you what it is: that river rises out of bed every spring, but it's hung out to dry in the summer, Prudy."

The little girl stopped short and swung her hat off into space. Horace gallantly restored it.

"O, what is that big thing there? a whale, or an ice-bug?"

Horace laughed. "Whales in the river! Goodness sakes, that's a sand-bar, miss. A man waded across here the other day. Tell you what, if he could do it, I could--want to see me?"

Prudy was alarmed, agreeably to expectation.

"Well, now," said the boy, holding the umbrella upright once more, "here we are at the Kinckles'. Come ahead, girls."

Prudy looked, and saw nothing but a crooked fence. Horace waited till Grace and Cassy came up, then let down the bars. Prudy trembled, and caught fast hold of Horace, for Farmer Kinckle's calves were wandering about the field, eating grass, or playfully biting one another. Tall hickory, persimmon, peach, apple, and mulberry trees cast a deep shade. For some time nothing was to be seen of the house; but at last it appeared in view--dark, unpainted, with chimneys built outside.

A cooking-stove stood in the yard, its long, black funnel puffing out smoke; and, strange to tell, under the stove a nest of young ducklings enjoying the heat and the smell of the cooking.

"Understand it to me, please," said little Prudy. "Do the folks know their stove is out here?"

Barbara appeared at the door with peony-colored cheeks and pleasant smiles. She would hardly have consented to be married unless the "childers" might be there to see.

There was no entry, and the front door was at the side of the house just opposite the back door. A huge fireplace spread itself over a large part of the room; but it was never used except for smoking hams or mosquitos. It was the only fireplace in the house. On the high mantel stood a candlestick, a pipe, a beer bottle, a wooden clock, and a bowl of blackberries. On one side, exactly in the way, were two or three long drawers of black walnut, which ran nearly the length of the room, and on the top of the drawers were tubs, buckets, and clothes baskets.

The house was propped on four feet. Horace discovered, under the house, a cat and kittens, a brood of chickens, and a dog. He called Prudy to admire this domestic menagerie, then crept under the house, and, by accident, overturned the cat's saucer of milk; whereat Pussy looked up at him with a glance of mild reproach. He next thrust both hands into a pool of corn-meal dough, which was meant for the chickens.

"O, Horace," said Grace, shocked at the dismal plight of her brother's clothes, "I did think you'd try to keep clean for the wedding."

This was expecting too much. Grace felt that it was a trial to take Horace visiting. At the table he declined mutton gravy, saying he never ate "tallow," and remarked about the cheese, that it was "as mouldy as castile soap;" yet Horace could not see that this was rude.

Mrs. Kinckle wore a small black cap, which reminded Prudy of a wire cover which is used to keep off flies. Horace thought it looked about as big as a percussion cap. Prudy watched the good woman doing work just like anybody, though she was a German and a Jewess, and therefore could not have known the "truly name" of a single dish she touched.

There were a few articles to be ironed for the bride, and Prudy had a mind to try the Jewish flatirons; so, with Barbara's leave, she smoothed out some handkerchiefs on a [text missing from book]

But soon the rabbi, or Jewish priest, arrived, and it was time for the wedding. The company formed a circle, as if they were playing the "Needle's Eye," thought Prudy. In the middle of the ring stood Barbara and Solomon, the rabbi before them. The bride's dress was a straw-colored silk, which must have cost many months' wages; but it was quite hidden under a long white veil, which enveloped Barbara from head to foot. The honest young bridegroom wore a solemn countenance; but how the bride's face looked, no one could tell.

The rabbi began to chant something in Hebrew, probably the marriage service. After this, Grace supposed he would pray; but he did not.

Mrs. Kinckle now kissed the bride--not through the veil, however--and then all the rest kissed her, this being the only part of the ceremony which the children fairly understood. Prudy espied a small tear in Barbara's eye, and wished Solomon only knew it, in which case he would never carry Barbara off in the world.

After the bride had been duly embraced, cake was passed around, and a certain Jewish wine, very strong and fiery, which, of course, the children did not taste. A basket of cigars came next, and in a few moments the gentlemen of the party were puffing at them. Thus the affair, after all, ended in smoke; and before sunset the children were on their way home.

It seemed to Grace that the world had begun to fall in pieces. To think that Barby would never more be seen in Mrs. Clifford's kitchen, polishing and scrubbing! To think that just a few little Hebrew words had made such a dreadful change; spiriting away that splendid Barby forever. Cassy wondered how the Jews could endure their synagogues, and rabbis, and strong wines. Horace thought it a deal worse than keeping pigs. Grace would even sooner be married with candles and crucifixes, like a Roman Catholic. Cassy said _she_ should have fifteen bridesmaids, "like they had in Kentucky." Prudy gave it as her opinion that poor Barby was crying all the while the man "sing-songed." "She hates Solomon," added the child; "for I asked her if she didn't think so much whiskers was homely, and she said she did."

Before the children reached home the full moon was rising.

"I didn't use to know what the moon was," quoth Prudy. "I thought it was a chip."

"What put that in your head, dear?" said Grace.

"O, I threw it up, you know, when I wasn't three years old, there at grandma's. I threw it up in the air, and didn't see it go down; and then, when I looked up, there was the moon; and I said, 'O, grandma, see my chip!'"

"But you don't know what 'tis now any better than you did then, I'll warrant," said Horace, sitting down in the road to laugh.

"Don't know, Horace Clifford? I guess I do!"

"Well, tell then, can't you?"

"Silver, of course! Didn't you never know that before?"

"It's a big world, darling," said Grace, laughing.

"I know that, Gracie Clifford; did I say it wasn't? It's a silver ball as big as a house, and there's a man lives there, and I've seen him making up faces."

Everybody laughed, and Prudy tried to be angry; but her fiercest indignation frightened you about as much as a firefly trying to flash out a little chain-lightning.

Mr. Parlin was daily expected back from St. Louis, and Grace and Horace clung to their little cousin, dreading the thought of losing her.

"Aunt Ria," said Prudy, "don't you think 'twould be a good plan for you to get the baby's picture took, and send it to my mamma for a present?"

Mrs. Clifford said she would try; so, on Saturday afternoon, she went to Mr. Drake's photograph-rooms with the little girls, while Horace wheeled the baby in her small carriage.

It was of no use. There were sure to be a dozen noses in Katie's picture, or as many mouths. In vain Horace chirruped to her, calling her dove-names. "Still, now, Brownbrimmer! Ho, little Topknot!" The more he tried to hush her, the more eager she grew for a frolic.

"My fine little fellow," said the artist, "suppose you and the young misses go in the next room for a while?"

They all went. Prudy threw off her hat, and sat down to hold the white kitty which she had carried in her arms all the way.

"Sit still, little youngling," cried Horace; "I'll _take_ you!"

So the boy arranged an apparatus by turning down one chair, setting another across it, and throwing over both a table-cover for a screen. Prudy looked solemnly at her finger-nails.

"That's jolly, Miss Parlin. Just keep that little nose straight, so it won't be foreshortened or forelengthened. Now, young lady," continued the little artist, poking his roguish face between the bars of the chair, "afraid your dress won't take! too near--ahem--snuff color."

"Don't say snuff-color, Horace, or I'll sneeze, and that'll spoil my nose."

"O, what foolishness!" laughed Grace and Cassy.

"Hush! There, I've fixed the focus. Now, observe this fly on my jacket (coat, I mean), young lady, and don't you wink." Horace consulted a small bottle he held in his hand for a watch.

"These pictures were all failures," he said. "Some had 'no focus,' while others were 'all focus;' they 'flattered,' and were likewise too '_negative_.'"

Meanwhile, the artist, Mr. Drake, much amused, brought in his photographic apparatus, and made a picture of the little group. This picture Mrs. Clifford purchased for Mrs. Parlin, instead of the many-nosed miniature of the baby.

The day before starting for the east, Prudy went with Mrs. Clifford, her cousins, and Cassy, to visit the hospital, which was filled with sick and wounded soldiers. They wanted to give something to every man they saw, and mourned when their "goody-basket" was emptied of its contents.

"O, ma," said Grace, with ready tears, "it just makes me feel like we must get up that fair, and raise money!"

"I only wish _I_ could be here to help," said little Prudy.

"Come here, my dear," said a pale gentleman who heard the child's voice. "I cannot see you, for I am blind. Will you tell me who you all are?"

"Yes, sir; this is me, that's got your hand. My name is Prudy Parlin, and that boy that isn't in this room is Horace."

"Horace! Whose son?"

"He's my uncle Henry Clifford's son; but uncle Henry isn't _his_ uncle: he's his father. Horace is his only son, and me, and Susy, and Dotty is _my_ father's only daughters!"

"Possible! Now, my sweet little one, will you ask Horace to come here?"

It was Mr. Lazelle, with whom the Cliffords had travelled east the year before. They had a pleasant meeting. Horace had once been angry with this very gentleman for boxing his ears; but he forgot it all when he looked at the blind, helpless soldier, and wanted to open his savings' bank at once in his behalf.

Next day Prudy went home. Grace and all the Princesses wept bitterly at parting with the dear child; still, it was better for them that she should go away. She claimed too much of their attention at the very time when they should have thought only of study.