“And of course I shall lend you my pearl pin,” cried Lily, embracing Elise for the sixth time. “Oh, I am so delighted! And to think, you sly girl, that you’re going to be married four whole months before I am!”

“And I,” announced Dolly Webster, taking her turn at embracing the blushing and dimpling Elise, “I’ve brought you a pair of blue garters. Annie Lee made ’em, but I sewed on the little pink roses, so they’re from both of us. And mamma is going to give you the dearest set of tea cups—though that’s a secret. I never was so surprised at anything in my life!”

“And your fiancÉ is charming,” added Amelia, “so interesting. Now, do let me look at all these pretty things you are making.”

“Well, I want to hear more about all this,” said Annie Lee, sitting down, and taking off her rain-soaked hat. “Here, my dear, give me some of your sewing to do. You must be rushed to death.”

“I am rushed—but everyone has been helping. The house is simply upside down,” said Elise. “Just look at this room! I don’t know how we’re going to get everything straightened out for the wedding. Papa insists that we must have a big party here afterwards, but where in the world we’ll find room to move I don’t know.”

Indeed, since the events recorded in the last chapter, the gentle routine of the Lambert’s family life had been unhinged at its very foundations. Everyone knows that the prospect of a wedding has a thoroughly disturbing influence, and during the weeks of trousseau making, and festivity-planning, Mr. Lambert’s rules of law and order were freely and boldly disregarded.

The wedding date was set for early winter,—to this suggestion, Mr. Lambert had given a ready consent, being anxious to have his son-in-law firmly attached to the household and his duties as soon as possible, and the domestic machinery moving once again with its customary smoothness. At the same time the old merchant desired to have his daughter’s marriage do him credit. He discussed the preparations fussily; he made decisions and redecisions on the household articles and heirlooms which should go to his daughter on her marriage; he even had his opinions on the bride’s dress. One evening he called her down and presented her with an ancient silver chain, set with curious, embossed medallions, which had belonged to his own grandmother—“Now I have the ‘something old,’”—Elise said, as she showed it proudly to her friends—: another time, on his return from a trip to Allenboro, he brought her a pair of tiny blue silk slippers, so small that no woman of the modern generation could possibly have pressed her feet into them. Altogether, his satisfaction was so profound that at times he was positively kittenish, and teased the young lovers with elephantine playfulness. He no longer saw in his prospective son-in-law and distant relative those eccentricities that had annoyed him so excessively. He called Hyacinth, Polybius—a name, which in his opinion had classic dignity—and treated him with a solemn regard that disconcerted the young man even more than his former sarcasm.

Everyone was pleased. Letters of a most friendly and cousinly nature had been exchanged with the family of the bridegroom who did not hesitate to express very frankly their surprise and delight in that young man’s unlooked for good sense in choosing the bride he had, and in preparing to lay aside his artistic whimsies in favor of a solid and thriving business.

Hyacinth had been exhibited to all the Lamberts’ neighbors; he had been approved and congratulated. Frederickstown received him amiably into its midst. He had bought a calm, dark blue suit, and was growing a small beard to give some air of age and authority to his rosy, youthful face. He spent much of his time at the warehouse with Mr. Lambert where he sat and listened gravely to the talk of the other merchants, spoke rarely, but always with a judicious, reflective manner, which was positively impressive.

“A fine young man, who’ll be a credit to you, Mr. Lambert, and as good a husband as any young lady could wish,” was the general opinion of the new Winkler.

He had been admitted to the secrets of the Bakery, and here his talents shone. Here he proved his claim to his descent, exhibiting a genius for cake-making that might in time rival that of old Johann himself. He had already invented three new recipes; and so great was his enthusiasm that he actually sat up at night thinking out new mixtures. He had found the natural outlet for his creative instinct, and his whole soul was possessed with an ardor for increasing the name and fame of his house.

But it was not without a slight shadow of resentment that Jane, although she was sincerely fond of her future brother-in-law, saw him usurping the place that had been Paul’s. Now Paul seemed to be entirely forgotten; his place was filled; in the flurry of preparations even Aunt Gertrude did not have a thought to spare for him. It was as if he were no longer a member of the family at all, as if his life and theirs had no connection. How could they feel that way, Jane wondered indignantly. And to cap all, she had heard no news of the fate of the picture. She was bitterly disappointed, for even while she had tried to pretend that she had no reason to hope for much, she had really been building all sorts of delightful imaginings on her unshakable belief that it would win a prize.

But Jane was too entirely feminine not to be diverted, and greatly absorbed by the plans for the wedding; and on that rainy, windy afternoon, she busily pricked her fingers trying to make tiny stitches in the pretty, simple lingerie that she was helping Elise to make, and listened eagerly to the chattering of the other girls who were all talking and asking questions at once.

The brisk, kindly Annie Lee promptly fitted a thimble on her finger and took up the piece of muslin that Elise had been hemming. The two engaged ladies exchanged open confidences for the benefit of all, while Dolly sat by munching chocolates from the box of candies that she herself had brought as an offering to the bride-to-be.

“Now, do tell about the wedding,” she said, giving a bounce of anticipation. “Have you started on your dress?”

“Oh, yes—and Granny has given me a lovely piece of lace. Wait, I’ll show you. Janey, dear, will you go and put the kettle on, and I’ll make some tea in a little—you dear girls have gotten soaked coming to see me.”

Then the half-finished wedding dress was taken out of its box, and held so high that its immaculate cream-colored flounces should not touch the floor.

“It was mother’s,” Elise explained. “And I’m just altering it a little, so it will not look very old fashioned—but I can’t bear to change it, and I think it’s lovely as it is.”

“It’s delicious!” cried Lily.

“I wouldn’t think of changing it,” said Annie Lee. “Why that’s just the style that suits you. You’ll look lovely!”

“I suppose it was once white,” said Amelia, “but still, that cream-color is very nice—though a pure white would be more to my taste.”

“What are you talking about, Amelia—that old ivory shade is a thousand times nicer than dead white. Hold it up against you, Lisa.”

Aunt Gertrude’s wedding dress was made of silk, with a tight little bodice and a huge skirt, brave with flounces and gathers; and above its mellow ivory-colored tones Elise’s flaxen hair shone like gold. Lily, Dolly and Annie Lee were loud in their raptures over her plump, blooming prettiness, but Amelia looked on with a rather strained smile.

“Now, put it back in the box, or you’ll soil it,” said Annie Lee. “And I shall help Janey with the tea; you can’t do half a dozen things at once.”

Over the tea-cups these feminine tongues rattled on still more exuberantly. Amelia drew attention to the probable differences in the futures of the two brides-to-be, and wondered which would be the happier, then Annie Lee began to tease her about some imaginary suitor whom she declared was languishing for Amelia.

“What nonsense! What are you saying? Whoever heard of such a thing!” cried Amelia, but she was immensely pleased, and put on a mysterious expression meant to convey to them that there was more truth in their pleasantries than they were aware of.

“Tell me,” she said, presently, with a lively air, “what has become of that delightful cousin of yours?”

“You mean Paul?” inquired Jane, looking up stolidly enough, but with a grin twitching at the corners of her lips.

“Yes. I met him out at your dance last winter, Dolly,” said Amelia, “and he was really charming to me. We had many dances together—such an interesting boy!”

Even Elise bent her head to conceal a smile at the mention of the “many dances” Paul and Amelia had had together. She had heard Paul’s account of that pleasure.

“Why, Amelia! did you set your cap at Paul? I’m surprised at you. And he was only a child!”

“Dear me—how can you say such things, Elise,” cried Amelia coyly. “I—”

“I wish I could tell him that you asked about him,” added Elise, “I know it would make him very happy.”

“Nonsense! I’m sure he wouldn’t care in the least! But tell me what has become of him.”

“He went away last month—or six weeks ago,” said Elise, briefly, glancing at Jane. “Isn’t that Papa just coming in, Janey? It must be after five.”

“After five!” cried Lily, “then I have to run, dear. Mamma didn’t want me to come at all in this rain—”

“We’ve got to go too, so we’ll take you home, Lily,” said Annie Lee. “Come along, Amelia. We may drop in to-morrow, Lisa, and Mama says that if you want any extra sewing done that Roxie can do it easily.”

Mr. Lambert entered the dining room just after the four girls had gone. There was a peculiar expression on his face—a mixture of annoyance, pleasure and pride, and he seemed to take no notice of the disorder of the room as he kissed his two daughters, and asked them to give him a cup of tea.

“And, Jane, call your mother. Where is Carl?”

“I think he came in just a moment ago, father. He has been out walking.”

“Well, well. Well, I’ve got a piece of news—quite a piece of news, I must say.” Still, he seemed in no hurry to part with it, and Jane and Elise were left to exchange inquiring glances behind his back, until Mrs. Lambert and Carl had obeyed the summons of the master of the house.

“And what is this piece of news, Peter?” asked his wife, at length. They all looked up at him, as he stood in front of the fire, drinking his tea.

“Well, I must say I am very much surprised. And yet not so much surprised either. I had an idea that there was something in the boy, and that was one reason I wanted to let him have his own rope for a while—”

“Daddy!” cried Jane, springing up, “is it about Paul?”

Mrs. Lambert looked at her with a little frown and a shake of the head, but Jane did not see these warning signs.

“Why, yes,” said Mr. Lambert, smoothing his beard. “The boy, it seems won a third prize in that competition. I found the letter in the mail that was left at my office—”

“Daddy!” shrieked Jane. “Oh, let me see! It isn’t—it can’t be true—”

“Don’t yell like that, Jane!” admonished Carl.

“I will—I must yell! Oh, mother, darling, isn’t it—”

“Sh, Janey! Of course it is wonderful news—”

“But Paul doesn’t know anything about it. Oh, Daddy, where is he? Why he—” “I don’t see how it could be—since his picture was burnt up,” observed Carl. This fact had so far not occurred to anyone.

“That’s true!” exclaimed Mr. Lambert. “Do you imagine that there is a mistake after all?” And his face fell slightly. He was inordinately proud of the honor that had redounded to the family from his discredited nephew’s achievement.

“No, no! There’s no mistake!” cried Jane. “It wasn’t the burnt picture—it was the other one—the one he did on top of the flour barrel. Don’t you remember, Mummy?”

“How do you know?”

“Why, because I sent it off. After Paul had gone—and he doesn’t know anything!”

“Well, well—the boy must learn of this, somehow,” said Mr. Lambert. “It was absurd of him to fly off in a temper as he did—but that’s the way of young people. Gertrude, my dear, I think it would be quite proper to have a notice of this inserted in the Frederickstown Star. In fact, I dropped by on my way home this evening, and told Jim Braintree about it, and he’s putting it in on the front page to-morrow. ‘Well,’ he said to me, ‘I certainly must congratulate you, Peter Lambert.’ The prize by the way was seventy-five dollars. Not bad for a youngster—by Jove! Frederickstown will have reason to boast of this family for a good many years to come, I’m thinking!” And the worthy old man swelled almost visibly with pride, as if in some way he was entirely responsible for the new honor that had been bestowed upon his house.

In fact, not even Jane herself was more delighted than her father who less than a year before had angrily consigned the prize-winning picture to dust and oblivion behind his desk.

But it was all very well to say that Paul must learn of his success. Where was he? For all that they knew, for all that anyone knew, he might at that very moment have been once again on the ocean, or in New Zealand or Timbuctoo. This sad possibility somewhat dampened Jane’s boundless, blissful rapture; and yet she declared stoutly that she had a feeling in her bones that Paul was coming back—

“And if he does come back, Daddy,” she asked timidly, “will you—will it be all right?”

“I haven’t the slightest doubt that as soon as he gets over his little fit of temper, he will return,” replied Mr. Lambert. “He must be running short of money now, indeed—”

“That won’t bring him back!” interrupted Jane.

“Well, well, I am sure that he will feel—I am sure that he will realize—that he has acted very impetuously—and—and will do the sensible thing,” said Mr. Lambert a trifle impatiently. “And now, Jane, will you bring me my slippers!”