While the travellers refreshed, and Mrs President struggled into her
best gown, Josie ran into the garden to gather flowers for the
brides. The sudden arrival of these interesting beings had quite
enchanted the romantic girl, and her head was full of heroic rescues,
tender admiration, dramatic situations, and feminine wonder as to
whether the lovely creatures would wear their veils or not. She was
standing before a great bush of white roses, culling the most perfect
for the bouquets which she meant to tie with the ribbon festooned
over her arm, and lay on the toilette tables of the new cousins, as a
delicate attention. A step startled her, and looking up she saw her
brother coming down the path with folded arms, bent head, and the
absent air of one absorbed in deep thought.

‘Sophy Wackles,’ said the sharp child, with a superior smile, as she
sucked her thumb just pricked by a too eager pull at the thorny
branches.

‘What are you at here, Mischief?’ asked Demi, with an Irvingesque
start, as he felt rather than saw a disturbing influence in his
day-dream.

‘Getting flowers for "our brides". Don’t you wish you had one?’
answered Josie, to whom the word ‘mischief’ suggested her favourite
amusement.

‘A bride or a flower?’ asked Demi calmly, though he eyed the blooming
bush as if it had a sudden and unusual interest for him.

‘Both; you get the one, and I’ll give you the other.’

‘Wish I could!’ and Demi picked a little bud, with a sigh that went
to Josie’s warm heart.

‘Why don’t you, then? It’s lovely to see people so happy. Now’s a
good time to do it if you ever mean to. She will be going away for
ever soon.’

‘Who?’ and Demi pulled a half-opened bud, with a sudden colour in his
own face; which sign of confusion delighted little Jo.

‘Don’t be a hypocrite. You know I mean Alice. Now, Jack, I’m fond of
you, and want to help; it’s so interesting – all these lovers and
weddings and things, and we ought to have our share. So you take my
advice and speak up like a man, and make sure of Alice before she
goes.’

Demi laughed at the seriousness of the small girl’s advice; but he
liked it, and showed that it suited him by saying blandly, instead of
snubbing her as usual:

‘You are very kind, child. Since you are so wise, could you give me a
hint how I’d better ‘speak up’, as you elegantly express it?’

‘Oh, well, there are various ways, you know. In plays the lovers go
down on their knees; but that’s awkward when they have long legs.
Ted never does it well, though I drill him for hours. You could say,
"Be mine, be mine!" like the old man who threw cucumbers over the
wall to Mrs Nickleby, if you want to be gay and easy; or you could
write a poetical pop. You’ve tried it, I dare say.’

‘But seriously, Jo, I do love Alice, and I think she knows it. I want
to tell her so; but I lose my head when I try, and don’t care to make
a fool of myself. Thought you might suggest some pretty way; you read
so much poetry and are so romantic.’

Demi tried to express himself clearly, but forgot his dignity and his
usual reserve in the sweet perplexity of his love, and asked his
little sister to teach him how to put the question which a single
word can answer. The arrival of his happy cousins had scattered all
his wise plans and brave resolutions to wait still longer. The
Christmas play had given him courage to hope, and the oration today
had filled him with tender pride; but the sight of those blooming
brides and beaming grooms was too much for him, and he panted to
secure his Alice without an hour’s delay. Daisy was his confidante in
all things but this; a brotherly feeling of sympathy had kept him
from telling her his hopes, because her own were forbidden. His
mother was rather jealous of any girl he admired; but knowing that
she liked Alice, he loved on and enjoyed his secret alone, meaning
soon to tell her all about it.

Now suddenly Josie and the rose-bush seemed to suggest a speedy end
to his tender perplexities; and he was moved to accept her aid as the
netted lion did that of the mouse.

‘I think I’ll write,’ he was slowly beginning, after a pause during
which both were trying to strike out a new and brilliant idea.

‘I’ve got it! perfectly lovely! just suit her, and you too, being a
poet!’ cried Josie, with a skip.

‘What is it? Don’t be ridiculous, please,’ begged the bashful lover,
eager, but afraid of this sharp-tongued bit of womanhood.

‘I read in one of Miss Edgeworth’s stories about a man who offers
three roses to his lady – a bud, a half-blown, and a full-blown rose.
I don’t remember which she took; but it’s a pretty way; and Alice
knows about it because she was there when we read it. Here are all
kinds; you’ve got the two buds, pick the sweetest rose you can find,
and I’ll tie them up and put them in her room. She is coming to dress
with Daisy, so I can do it nicely.’

Demi mused a moment with his eyes on the bridal bush, and a smile
came over his face so unlike any it had ever worn before, that Josie
was touched, and looked away as if she had no right to see the dawn
of the great passion which, while it lasts, makes a young man as
happy as a god.

‘Do it,’ was all he said, and gathered a full-blown rose to finish
his floral love-message.

Charmed to have a finger in this romantic pie, Josie tied a graceful
bow of ribbon about the stems, and finished her last nosegay with
much content, while Demi wrote upon a card:

DEAR ALICE, You know what the flowers mean. Will you wear
one, or all tonight, and make me still prouder, fonder, and
happier than I am?

Yours entirely,

JOHN

Offering this to his sister, he said in a tone that made her feel the
deep importance of her mission:

‘I trust you, Jo. This means everything to me. No jokes, dear, if you
love me.’

Josie’s answer was a kiss that promised all things; and then she ran
away to do her ‘gentle spiriting’, like Ariel, leaving Demi to dream
among the roses like Ferdinand.

Mary and Ludmilla were charmed with their bouquets; and the giver had
the delight of putting some of the flowers into the dark hair and the
light as she played maid at the toilettes of ‘our brides’, which
consoled her for a disappointment in the matter of veils.

No one helped Alice dress; for Daisy was in the next room with her
mother; and not even their loving eyes saw the welcome which the
little posy received, nor the tears and smiles and blushes that came
and went as she read the note and pondered what answer she should
give. There was no doubt about the one she wished to give; but duty
held her back; for at home there was an invalid mother and an old
father. She was needed there, with all the help she could now bring
by the acquirements four years of faithful study had given her. Love
looked very sweet, and a home of her own with John a little heaven on
earth; but not yet. And she slowly laid away the full-blown rose as
she sat before the mirror, thinking over the great question of her
life.

Was it wise and kind to ask him to wait, to bind him by any promise,
or even to put into words the love and honour she felt for him? No;
it would be more generous to make the sacrifice alone, and spare him
the pain of hope deferred. He was young; he would forget; and she
would do her duty better, perhaps, if no impatient lover waited for
her. With eyes that saw but dimly, and a hand that lingered on the
stem he had stripped of thorns, she laid the half-blown flower by the
rose, and asked herself if even the little bud might be worn. It
looked very poor and pale beside the others; yet being in the
self-sacrificing mood which real love brings, she felt that even a
small hope was too much to give, if she could not follow it up with
more.

As she sat looking sadly down on the symbols of an affection that
grew dearer every moment, she listened half unconsciously to the
murmur of voices in the adjoining room. Open windows, thin
partitions, and the stillness of summer twilight made it impossible
to help hearing, and in a few moments more she could not refrain; for
they were talking of John.

‘So nice of Ludmilla to bring us all bottles of real German cologne!
Just what we need after this tiring day! Be sure John has his! He
likes it so!’

‘Yes, mother. Did you see him jump up when Alice ended her oration?
He’d have gone to her if I hadn’t held him back. I don’t wonder he
was pleased and proud. I spoilt my gloves clapping, and quite forgot
my dislike of seeing women on platforms, she was so earnest and
unconscious and sweet after the first moment.’

‘Has he said anything to you, dear?’

‘No; and I guess why. The kind boy thinks it would make me unhappy.
It wouldn’t. But I know his ways; so I wait, and hope all will go
well with him.’

‘It must. No girl in her senses would refuse our John, though he
isn’t rich, and never will be. Daisy, I’ve been longing to tell you
what he did with his money. He told me last night, and I’ve had no
time since to tell you. He sent poor young Barton to the hospital,
and kept him there till his eyes were saved – a costly thing to do.
But the man can work now and care for his old parents. He was in
despair, sick and poor, and too proud to beg; and our dear boy found
it out, and took every penny he had, and never told even his mother
till she made him.’

Alice did not hear what Daisy answered, for she was busy with her own
emotions – happy ones now, to judge from the smile that shone in her
eyes and the decided gesture with which she put the little bud in her
bosom, as if she said: ‘He deserves some reward for that good deed,
and he shall have it.’

Mrs Meg was speaking, and still of John, when she could hear again:

‘Some people would call it unwise and reckless, when John has so
little; but I think his first investment a safe and good one, for "he
who giveth to the poor lendeth to the Lord"; and I was so pleased and
proud, I wouldn’t spoil it by offering him a penny.’

‘It is his having nothing to offer that keeps him silent, I think. He
is so honest, he won’t ask till he has much to give. But he forgets
that love is everything. I know he’s rich in that; I see and feel it;
and any woman should be glad to get it.’

‘Right, dear. I felt just so, and was willing to work and wait with
and for my John.’

‘So she will be, and I hope they will find it out. But she is so
dutiful and good, I’m afraid she won’t let herself be happy. You
would like it, mother?’

‘Heartily; for a better, nobler girl doesn’t live. She is all I want
for my son; and I don’t mean to lose the dear, brave creature if I
can help it. Her heart is big enough for both love and duty; and they
can wait more happily if they do it together – for wait they must, of
course.’

‘I’m so glad his choice suits you, mother, and he is spared the
saddest sort of disappointment.’

Daisy’s voice broke there; and a sudden rustle, followed by a soft
murmur, seemed to tell that she was in her mother’s arms, seeking and
finding comfort there.

Alice heard no more, and shut her window with a guilty feeling but a
shining face; for the proverb about listeners failed here, and she
had learned more than she dared to hope. Things seemed to change
suddenly; she felt that her heart was large enough for both love and
duty; she knew now that she would be welcomed by mother and sister;
and the memory of Daisy’s less happy fate, Nat’s weary probation, the
long delay, and possible separation for ever – all came before her so
vividly that prudence seemed cruelty; self-sacrifice, sentimental
folly; and anything but the whole truth, disloyalty to her lover. As
she thought thus, the half-blown rose went to join the bud; and then,
after a pause, she slowly kissed the perfect rose, and added it to
the tell-tale group, saying to herself with a sort of sweet
solemnity, as if the words were a vow:

‘I’ll love and work and wait with and for my John.’

It was well for her that Demi was absent when she stole down to join
the guests who soon began to flow through the house in a steady
stream. The new brightness which touched her usually thoughtful face
was easily explained by the congratulations she received as orator,
and the slight agitation observable, when a fresh batch of gentlemen
approached soon passed, as none of them noticed the flowers she wore
over a very happy heart. Demi meantime was escorting certain
venerable personages about the college, and helping his grandfather
entertain them with discussion of the Socratic method of instruction,
Pythagoras, Pestalozzi, Froebel, and the rest, whom he devoutly
wished at the bottom of the Red Sea, and no wonder, for his head and
his heart were full of love and roses, hopes and fears. He piloted
the ‘potent, grave, and reverend seigniors’ safely down to Plumfield
at last, and landed them before his uncle and aunt Bhaer, who were
receiving in state, the one full of genuine delight in all men and
things, the other suffering martyrdom with a smile, as she stood
shaking hand after hand, and affecting utter unconsciousness of the
sad fact that ponderous Professor Plock had camped upon the train of
her state and festival velvet gown.

With a long sigh of relief Demi glanced about him for the beloved
girl. Most persons would have looked some time before any particular
angel could be discovered among the white-robed throng in parlours,
hall, and study; but his eye went – like the needle to the pole – to
the corner where a smooth dark head, with its braided crown, rose
like a queen’s, he thought, above the crowd which surrounded her.
Yes, she has a flower at her throat; one, two, oh, blessed sight! he
saw it all across the room, and gave a rapturous sigh which caused
Miss Perry’s frizzled crop to wave with a sudden gust. He did not see
the rose, for it was hidden by a fold of lace; and it was well,
perhaps, that bliss came by instalments, or he might have electrified
the assembled multitude by flying to his idol, there being no Daisy
to clutch him by the coat-tail. A stout lady, thirsting for
information, seized him at that thrilling moment, and he was forced
to point out celebrities with a saintly patience which deserved a
better reward than it received; for a certain absence of mind and
incoherence of speech at times caused the ungrateful dowager to
whisper to the first friend she met after he had escaped:

‘I saw no wine at any of the spreads; but it is plain that young
Brooke has had too much. Quite gentlemanly, but evidently a trifle
intoxicated, my dear.’

Ah, so he was! but with a diviner wine than any that ever sparkled at
a class-day lunch, though many collegians know the taste of it; and
when the old lady was disposed of, he gladly turned to find the young
one, bent on having a single word. He saw her standing by the piano
now, idly turning over music as she talked with several gentlemen.
Hiding his impatience under an air of scholastic repose, Demi hovered
near, ready to advance when the happy moment came, wondering meantime
why elderly persons persisted in absorbing young ones instead of
sensibly sitting in corners with their contemporaries. The elderly
persons in question retired at length, but only to be replaced by two
impetuous youths who begged Miss Heath to accompany them to Parnassus
and join the dance. Demi thirsted for their blood, but was appeased
by hearing George and Dolly say, as they lingered a moment after her
refusal:

‘Really, you know, I’m quite converted to co-education and almost
wish I’d remained here. It gives a grace to study, a sort of relish
even to Greek to see charming girls at it,’ said Stuffy, who found
the feast of learning so dry, any sauce was welcome; and he felt as
if he had discovered a new one.

‘Yes, by Jove! we fellows will have to look out or you’ll carry off
all the honours. You were superb today, and held us all like magic,
though it was so hot there, I really think I couldn’t have stood it
for anyone else,’ added Dolly, labouring to be gallant and really
offering a touching proof of devotion; for the heat melted his
collar, took the curl out of his hair, and ruined his gloves.

‘There is room for all; and if you will leave us the books, we will
cheerfully yield the baseball, boating, dancing, and flirting, which
seem to be the branches you prefer,’ answered Alice sweetly.

‘Ah, now you are too hard upon us! We can’t grind all the time and
you ladies don’t seem to mind taking a turn at the two latter
"branches" you mention,’ returned Dolly, with a glance at George
which plainly said, ‘I had her there.’

‘Some of us do in our first years. Later we give up childish things,
you see. Don’t let me keep you from Parnassus’; and a smiling nod
dismissed them, smarting under the bitter consciousness of youth.

‘You got it there, Doll. Better not try to fence with these superior
girls. Sure to be routed, horse, foot, and dragoons,’ said Stuffy,
lumbering away, somewhat cross with too many spreads.

‘So deuced sarcastic! Don’t believe she’s much older than we are.
Girls grow up quicker, so she needn’t put on airs and talk like a
grandmother,’ muttered Dolly, feeling that he had sacrificed his kids
upon the altar of an ungrateful Pallas.

‘Come along and let’s find something to eat. I’m faint with so much
talking. Old Plock cornered me and made my head spin with Kant and
Hegel and that lot.’

‘I promised Dora West I’d give her a turn. Must look her up; she’s a
jolly little thing, and doesn’t bother about anything but keeping in
step.’

And arm in arm the boys strolled away, leaving Alice to read music as
diligently as if society had indeed no charms for her. As she bent to
turn a page, the eager young man behind the piano saw the rose and
was struck speechless with delight. A moment he gazed, then hastened
to seize the coveted place before a new detachment of bores arrived.

‘Alice, I can’t believe it – did you understand – how shall I ever
thank you?’ murmured Demi, bending as if he, too, read the song, not
a note or word of which did he see, however.

‘Hush! not now. I understood – I don’t deserve it – we are too young,
we must wait, but – I’m very proud and happy, John!’

What would have happened after that tender whisper I tremble to
think, if Tom Bangs had not come bustling up, with the cheerful
remark:

‘Music? just the thing. People are thinning out, and we all want a
little refreshment. My brain fairly reels with the ‘ologies and ‘isms
I’ve heard discussed tonight. Yes, give us this; sweet thing! Scotch
songs are always charming.’

Demi glowered; but the obtuse boy never saw it, and Alice, feeling
that this would be a safe vent for sundry unruly emotions, sat down
at once, and sang the song which gave her answer better than she
could have done:

BIDE A WEE

‘The puir auld folk at home, ye mind,

Are frail and failing sair;

And weel I ken they’d miss me, lad,

Gin I come hame nae mair.

The grist is out, the times are hard,

The kine are only three;

I canna leave the auld folk now.

We’d better bide a wee.

‘I fear me sair they’re failing baith;

For when I sit apart,

They talk o’ Heaven so earnestly,

It well nigh breaks my heart.

So, laddie, dinna urge me now,

It surely winna be;

I canna leave the auld folk yet.

We’d better bide a wee.’

The room was very still before the first verse ended; and Alice
skipped the next, fearing she could not get through; for John’s eyes
were on her, showing that he knew she sang for him and let the
plaintive little ballad tell what her reply must be. He took it as
she meant it, and smiled at her so happily that her heart got the
better of her voice, and she rose abruptly, saying something about
the heat.

‘Yes, you are tired; come out and rest, my dearest’; and with a
masterful air Demi took her into the starlight, leaving Tom to stare
after them winking as if a sky-rocket had suddenly gone off under his
nose.

‘Bless my soul! the Deacon really meant business last summer and
never told me. Won’t Dora laugh?’ And Tom departed in hot haste to
impart and exult over his discovery.

What was said in the garden was never exactly known; but the Brooke
family sat up very late that night, and any curious eye at the window
would have seen Demi receiving the homage of his womankind as he told
his little romance. Josie took great credit to herself in the matter,
insisting that she had made the match; Daisy was full of the sweetest
sympathy and joy, and Mrs Meg so happy that when Jo had gone to dream
of bridal veils, and Demi sat in his room blissfully playing the air
of ‘Bide a Wee’, she had her talk about Nat, ending with her arms
round her dutiful daughter and these welcome words as her reward:

‘Wait till Nat comes home, and then my good girl shall wear white
roses too.’