Orange Lily: Chapter XXVIII

“O fortunate, O happy day,

When a new household finds its place

Among the myriad homes of earth,

Like a new star just sprung to birth,

And rolled on its harmonious way

Into the boundless realms of space!

So said the guests in speech and song,

As in the chimney, burning bright,

We hung the iron crane to-night,

And merry was the feast and long.”

Longfellow.

It need hardly be told now how the Keag family were reconciled to the new owner of the sea-farm; how, after recognition, astonishment, and wonder at his history, they at last settled down to a complacent feeling that Providence had thus rightly favored their former farm-servant, in order to bless themselves—in the person of their Orange Lily—in a roundabout way, with his riches.

“Verily! it is remarkable, most remarkable—but I’ll not disallow a marriage betwixt them now,” quoth James Keag, with a dry smile, to his neighbors, when Tom’s origin was discussed. And his friends, who knew how this future son-in-law could buy all Keag was worth many times over, smiled too.

And, a few days later, on the Twelfth of July, Tom Coulter-Lee—(or rather Coulterlee, as the folk all took to calling him)—and his sweetheart at last realized their childish agreement of long ago, and walked together proudly with the Ballyboly lodge to the meeting-place of the Orangemen of the countryside. And the very next day they were married; while all the village street was still strung across with arches of orange lilies, twice as many as on most Julys, in honor of the double rejoicing; and the little path up to the church, likewise.

It was the biggest wedding ever was seen! And, to make it more noticeable, as the merry procession went along, the Colonel himself, and his little son on a pony, came riding by. Their landlord stopped on the road and called out such good wishes to Tom and his bride that no wonder the latter blushed, and her bridegroom looked a proud and pleased man that day. And more by token, the very evening before, the Colonel’s lady herself, with her two little daughters and the twin old ladies, had all gone in their carriage to the Keags’ farm. “Six ladies in all, bar one; and he was the futman!” quoth William-Thomas Gilhorn, who had watched them go by, recounting the matter to the curious.

The Colonel’s wife brought Orange Lily a cuckoo clock so quare! that—but this is anticipating—her children and Tom’s wonderingly admired it, as would their children’s children, no doubt. But the good spinster sisters gave a great Bible; telling their favorite farm-maiden, with gentle, earnest voices, that no match in all the country round had given them such pleasure for years. Miss Edith and Miss Alice, dear good ladies, had indeed—by dint of mildly observing to each other how suitable such a union seemed between their two school-favorites of some twenty years ago—begun to believe they had always foreseen it, and at last that they had had some hand in this glad ending.

Such a bright wedding-day as it was! And such a fine crowd of friends!

Every man at the wedding wore an orange lily in his button-hole, and every woman in her bosom. One of the happiest faces there was that of the master of the Ballyboly Orange Lodge—whose pride in the social exaltation of his idolized daughter, and pleasure in watching the happiness of her face, “Verily,” said he, “made just a fool of him.”

Mr. Redhead married the young couple himself; and John Gilhorn, like a kindly man, swallowed his disappointment and came bravely to church with Osilla, to whom he was heard to confide with a sigh like a wind-blast, and plenty of sound in his whisper, “that he had grown used to herself, like; though most young weemen were the biggest plagues in life! … Her sister, the bride, he would always uphold to be a saint on earth, but—but …” He was then seen apparently struggling to find in his pocket some words for expressing to the young girl an idea that was not yet quite clear to his own mind; but that seemed to have arisen by dint of gazing at her blushing face and listening to her murmurs of sympathy.

It may here be added that a short time later Daniel Gilhorn was heard of, as having fallen off drunk from a car at some races, and being taken to hospital, where he died without recovering consciousness. There was no great mourning for him. Big John, his cousin, inherited after him what was left of the old grandfather’s money; which, as Mistress Keag truly remarked, was “a powerful consolation!”

And on that wedding-day was seen a grander sight than had gladdened the Ballyboly gossips for many a long year. For no less than one carriage and five inside cars took the bridal party gayly on the usual wedding-drive round the country, instead of mere “outside” ones. And when, that golden evening, they halted at the married couple’s home—and the farm looked smiling and neat by the blue sea as any heart could wish—not one, far or near, in all the country-side but wished the new-made husband and wife from their hearts good-luck!

When all the rest had left, Tom and his wife, standing on the threshold of their own home, held each other’s hands; and looking over the pleasant farm on either hand, and the fair sea in front, turned and looked next moment in each other’s eyes—smiling.

And Tom, with a steadfast face, said—

“We have kept our word to each other.”

“Ay!” said his new-made wife, gently; “with God’s blessing.”

And thus it happened after all, to the astonishment of Ballyboly parish, that Orange Lily, Farmer Keag’s daughter, married her father’s farm-servant.

THE END.

Order the new paperback edition of Orange Lily which includes an introduction, footnotes and a glossary of words by Dr Philip Robinson. The book also includes the short stories The Witch of Windy Hill and An Old Maid’s Marriage.