The Columbus Dispatch

It was decided at last in family conclave that Joyce was to have a wedding. Not a formal church affair, but just a sweet little home wedding with a few close friends and relatives. The family had lived in this spacious old colonial home for almost a quarter of a century, and this was the first great event to take place within its portals. Something unusual must mark the very first wedding.

Brother Bob, who was handy with tools, was pressed into service and he constructed a wonderful arch of chicken wire in one end of the living room where the ceremony was to take place. A bevy of loving girl friends covered the whole with spruce and then twined June roses among the green. Joyce was to be married in a veritable bower of roses.

After many weeks of joyous preparations the fateful morning dawned. Joyce opened her large blue eyes in happy anticipation but snapped them shut as quickly. It was a dull, gray day with clouds threatening rain any minute.

Her sister, Antoinette, roused herself and threw an arm about her.

"I'm glad we didn't plan a garden wedding," she comforted, slipping out of bed. "Don't worry your poor little head over the weather. Everything is going to go off fine even if the weather is sloppy. I don't believe the weather has anything to do with it, anyway." she continued, hopping into her clothes. Think of Mariana Drew's wedding day. It poured and she's just as happy and prosperous as she can be." She bent to kiss her sister.

At length breakfast was over and before Antoinette realized it the guests were arriving and everything was delightful hubbub. She never quite knew how she managed to don her maid of honor frock of palest pink organdie. Mrs. Martin, in dove gray georgette, was busy cordially welcoming the guests at the library door.

Aunt Estelle was with the little bride, and to allay her fears that all the wedding party had arrived Antoinette kept bobbing in and out to assure her everything was in readiness and everybody had come.

She counted them over on her fingers.

"Douglas and all his family have just come. Doug and Joe, the best man, are with father. The wedding cake is all arranged on the hall table."

In a few minutes she was back.

"The rector is here," she announced, "and Mary and Holmes have been here for over an hour. So we're sure of the music. Mary was to play the bridal march and also during the ceremony. I'm sure everything is going off fine. Your veil is a dream," and off she flew.

Mary met her at the foot of the rose-twined stairway with a white strained face.

"What shall I do?" she gasped. "I've forgotten the music. I thought Holmes had it and he thought I'd had it."

Antoinette, panic stricken, glanced at the clock. It was 20 minutes of 12. The wedding was planned for high noon. Just as the clock struck the hour was to be the signal for Mary, from the concealed depths of the arch, to begin the wedding march. The maids were beginning to light the candles. The ushers were placing the ribboned aisle.

But without music the wedding would fall flat. Yet five miles there and back lay between that precious music. Could Holmes possibly make it? Speechless, she nodded to Holmes to make a try. Holmes' car fairly shot out of the drive and up the road.

"Saved" came the welcome report at exactly two minutes of twelve when Holmes dashed wildly into sight.

Antoinette gave the signal for the rector, the best man and the groom to take their places, and when the clock struck the tenth stroke of twelve she led the bridal party as Mary began the exquisite joyous strains of "Here comes the bride."

The rest of the wedding went by like a blur to Antoinette. She moved and did her part in a detached way. She heard the guests wishing the bride joy and had a hazy recollection of Joyce looking like a misty shining cloud of happiness. For the sun had come in all its glory just at noon.

Just as Joyce, all radiant in her pretty blue traveling suit, threw her bouquet to the bridesmaids as she descended the rose-twined staircase.

Philip Whately took her arm and led her into the deserted living room.

"It's time," he whispered, "for you to attend to your own wedding. Come, dear." He bent to kiss her. "I love you. You know it."

"Say, you spooners," broke in Brother Bob. "You'll miss the show. Get out and watch the bride off."

Joyce caught her sister as she came out and whispered: "It was all so sweet and I'll help with yours." The bride was gone.

"Gee, I felt like doing a handspring over the porch rail when Holmes got there and everything went off on the tick. Such a relief," said Brother Bob. "Your turn next, Sis."

"No more sweet little home weddings for me," laughed Antoinette, dead tired, but deliciously happy.

"Just the barest formalities to make it legal so I can enjoy every minute of it."

And she was married in a—but that's another delightful story.

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