25. CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The June roses over the porch were awake bright and early on
that morning, rejoicing with all their hearts in the cloudless
sunshine, like friendly little neighbors, as they were. Quite flushed
with excitement were their ruddy faces, as they swung in the wind,
whispering to one another what they had seen, for some peeped in at
the dining room windows where the feast was spread, some climbed up
to nod and smile at the sisters as they dressed the bride, others
waved a welcome to those who came and went on various errands in
garden, porch, and hall, and all, from the rosiest full-blown
flower to the palest baby bud, offered their tribute of beauty and
fragrance to the gentle mistress who had loved and tended them so
Meg looked very like a rose herself, for all that was best and
sweetest in heart and soul seemed to bloom into her face that day,
making it fair and tender, with a charm more beautiful than beauty.
Neither silk, lace, nor orange flowers would she have. "I don't
want a fashionable wedding, but only those about me whom I love,
and to them I wish to look and be my familiar self."
So she made her wedding gown herself, sewing into it the tender
hopes and innocent romances of a girlish heart. her sisters braided
up her pretty hair, and the only ornaments she wore were the lilies
of the valley, which `her John' liked best of all the flowers that
"You do look just like our own dear Meg, only so very sweet
and lovely that I should hug you if it wouldn't crumple your dress,"
cried Amy, surveying her with delight when all was done.
"Then I am satisfied. But please hug and kiss me, everyone,
and don't mind my dress. I want a great many crumples of this
sort put into it today." And Meg opened her arms to her sisters,
who clung about her with April faces for a minute, feeling that
the new love had not changed the old.
"Now I'm going to tie John's cravat for him, and then to stay
a few minutes with Father quietly in the study." And Meg ran
down to perform these little ceremonies, and then to follow her
mother wherever she went, conscious that in spite of the smiles
on the motherly face, there was a secret sorrow hid in the motherly
heart at the flight of the first bird from the nest.