Jasper Republican, Volume 1, Number 3, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 2 October 1874 — THE WOODEN WEDDING. [ARTICLE]

THE WOODEN WEDDING.

«Of course Louison must come home for the wooden wedding,” decided the whole of the Gruhners assembled in full family conclave; the said family conclave being feomposed of Grandfather and Grandrfbther Gruhner, Widow Gruhner and her two daughters, Margot, whose fifth wedding day was to be celebrated, and Gretchen, the laughter-loving youngest daughter of the family. Besides whom were present Wilhelm Raus, Margot’s husband, and Hans, the miller’s son. “Yes, yes, Fraulein Louison must come home for the wedding, of course,” echoed Hans. And then everybody laughed. First of all, because no one in the world but Hans would have dreamed of dignifying little Louison Gruhner with so imposing a title; and next, because poor Hans could never so much as mention Louison’s name, titled or not, without causing a laugh in the family circle. His admiration for that young person, freely expressed on all occasions when the object of his affections was not present, and his extreme shyness in her society, had long been a standing joke in the village of Brushofen, and had earned for him the nickname of “ the bashful lover.”

When they all laughed, Hans blushed a very furious and unbecoming red. “Never mind, never mind, friend Hans,” said Wilhelm, clapping him on the shoulder encouragingly. “I was young once, and timid too, and yet thou seest I took the bull by the horns at last; and I would advise thee ” But the advice was drowned in a chorus of laughter and expostulations. Margot, perhaps not unnaturally, objected to be compared to a horned bull; and Wilhelm’s timidity had not been so patent to the world, even in his young days, as to have made much impression upon it, it would seem. However, it was quite decided that Louison was to come home. She was a bright, dark-eyed girl of about seventeen, an orphan niece of Widow Gruhner, and the bosom friend of her cousin Gretchen, who was her junior by a few months. Louison lived, as a rule, with some distant relatives, who were farmers, a few miles from Konigsbeig; but her holidays, somewhat few and far between, were always spent in the Gruhners’ little cottage, which from her childhood had been considered as her real home, and her visits to Brushofen were looked forward to by all the members of the family with great pleasure. It was now almost a year since she had been to see them, and it was quite impossible to allow the grand festivities of the “ wooden wedding” to take place without her. So after a somewhat elaborate correspondence between the-Widow Gruhner and Frau Liebe, the farmer’s wife, whose right hand Louison was, a leave of a fortnight was obtained, and the day was fixed for the young girl’s arrival at Brushofen. Old Gruhner, accompanied by his grand-daughter, Gretchen, went to meet her at the coach. “ Two weeks, two whole weeks, my Louioon,” cried Gretchen, grasping her friend’s hand as they walked together up the steep cliff path that led to the cottage. “ Only think how delightful! And before the end of that time Hans Steimer will have asked thee to marry him, and then thou wilt stay here always, and live in the pretty new cottage by the mill, and we shall never part with thee again.”

“ Come, come,” retorted Louison, “ how dost thoa know that by the time Hans Steimer pleases to say ‘ Wilt thou? 1 shall not please to say * Nay? ’ ” But as she spoke a smile curled the corners of her pretty mouth, and her eyes sparkled, all hidden though they were by their long lashes. “ Well, well, we shall see,” returned Gretchen, wisely resolving not to press the matter, at least for the present. And there were naturally many other subjects of conversation interesting to the family party, or at least to the women portion of it: many questions to ask and be answered, many friends to be inquired for and discussed A merry and talkative group were they, “6 they sat together that §yepingat work

by the open window of the cottage kitchen. It seemed as though they could never get to the end of their absorbing topics—births, marriages, deaths, changes of one kmd or another, rumors of what flight be, or might have been, flirtations, feuds—who does not know the thousand and one elements of village gossip? If the conversation flagged for a moment, it was sure to break out again directly with an “ Oh! what do you think?” or “ Have you heard?” or “Do tell me?” And then on the tongues would go again, as glibly as though not a word had been spoken for hours. “Obi these women, these women,” grumbled old Grandfather Gruhner. “Just listen.to them click clack, click clacking, for all the world like a flock of geese. Set five women together, and some mischief will be brewing, one may be sure of that.” And yet, in spite of his protests, it did not seem that the old man had really any very strong aversion himself to a little gossip, since he hovered about the group, pipe in mouth, with some tenacity, instead of following his son-in-law, Wilhelm, to the garden, where he was busy digging potatoes. The forthcoming festivities of the wooden wedding, and the presents which were expected or promised for the occasion, of course took up a considerable share of the conversation, and filled up the pauses of village scandal. -The custom of giving presents of a special kind on each fifth anniversary of a marriage originated in America, but has been largely adopted in Germany. On the

fifth anniversary of the wedding-day all the gifts must be of wood, on .the tenth of tin, on the fifteenth of china, and so on until the silver, the twenty-fifth; the golden, the fiftieth; and the diamond, the seldom-reached seventy-fifth year of wedlock, is attained. There was naturally a good deal of arrangement required, and some anxiety manifested by the notable young housewife that the offerings should be such as would give satisfaction alike to the donor and the recipients, that rarest of all cases in the giving and receiving of presents. Possibly Margot had never heard of that unhappy bridal pair whose thoughtful friends provided them with ten toast-racks as wedding gifts. But experience or learning of some kind had evidently made her wise, and she was resolved that no mistake of such a kind should occur in her case. Though the gifts might be limited in kind, as well as in cost, there was no reason why they should not be of very various description. At least so it would seem from the list which she counted on her fingers, more than twice over, for her cousin’s benefit, and which included among other things an arm-chair, a teacaddy, a carved necklace, a picture frame, three spoons, a brooch, a potato bowl, and a washing tub. “Ah, by the bye,” she says, rather suddenly, after one of those dead pauses which occur even in the most animated conversations, “ by the bye, my husband tells me that Hans Steimer will come this evening to ask what his present to me shall be. I must decide. What dost think, grandmother, of a little bracket for the wall that would just hold the best Dutch china teapot?” “ I think that would be capital,” responds the old lady. Meanwhile a look of intelligence passes between the other women. Lotiison, who is sitting close by Gretchen, works away very steadily, and pretends not to see it. “ I doubt if Margot’s present is the only reason for Hans’ coming up tonight,” says Widow Gruhner, smiling at licr niece “How should he know I was here?” asks poor Louison, betraying herself unconsciously, and then blushing crimson to the very tips of her ears. There is a general laugh. At the same moment Louison drops the needle she is working with, and goes dn her knees on the floor to find it. Suddenly her heart beats tumultuously. It seems to have flown to her head, and to be knocking a very tattoo on her brain; the sound of a footstep, of a well-known voice, has reached her listening ears long before the others are conscious of it. It is not a very musical voice; it does not belong to a very remarkable or specially charming person. Hans is, after all, but a commonplace, every-day sort of young man; but yet to the little girl groping about in the twilight after the missing needle the voice has a charm sweeter than any other on earth, the round, commonplace face, under the round, shabby hat, has a radiance and beauty no other face will ever equal in her eyes. After all, is it not every-day love which makes every-day happiness? “ Ganst thou not find that needle?” asks Gretchen; and then, looking suddenly up, “ Why, only think,* Louison, here is Hans! ” As if Louison had not known that an age ago! “Here he comes. I thought so. Get up—or, no, no,” in a whisper, “stay there, and we will pretend thou hast not come; and we will hear what he says.”

“ Well, Hans, thou art a good example of the old proverb, for we were but just speaking of thee,” says Grandfather Gruhner as the young man approaches and leans against the open window, pipe in mouth. Gretchen holds her work spread out so as to hide kneeling Louison. Hans bids them all good evening, but gazes round the small room somewhat disconsolately, seeking for that which he finds not. Oh! for a glimpse of a small, plump figure in a dark serge dress, a pair of bright dark eyes, and coral lips that part to show a row of pearly teeth, sighs the young man sighs, and blindly curses fate, because like many another foolish mortal he cannot see a yard before his face. “Ah, Hans, Is it thou?” says laughing, jnjschievous Gretchen. “Poof Hans! {

am sorry forthee if it is to pay thy respects to our fair cousin thou art come.” “What folly of Gretchen, to be sure!” grumbles Margot under her breath. “ She will put my present quite out of his stupid head, and we all know that is what he has Really come about.” She moves quickly from her seat and whispers to her mother. An idea has struck her that after all two smaller brackets, one for each side of the chimney-piece, would be better than one. “ Dost think it would be too much to ask for?” she inquires of her mother. But the good, widow is so much amused with the small domestic comedy going on before her that she can scarcely pay due and proper attention to the weighty matter of the bracket. As for Hans, if Margot and tor wooden wedding had ever been very prominent matters of interest in his head, it is quite clear of them now. At the present moment one idea alone possesses the young lover. “How —why—what dost thou mean?” he stammers. “Is not Fraulein —I mean she—is she not coming?” Louison gives Gretchen’s dress a little, tremulous pull. “ No, indeed, she is poor Hans.” The smile fades suddenly away from the young man’s face. Gretchen puts on a very long face too and shakes her head dismally. “ What is it, Gretchen? Don’t keep me in suspense. Has anything happened to her? Is she ill? Is she — What’s the good of making mysteries? Eyerybody knows how I love her,” cries Hans, gaining sudden courage. “Yes, everybody except Louison herself,” says Gretchen. Another tug at the dress —an imploring tug this time. Louison feels her situation becoming extremely embarrassing. But Gretchen’s tongue is not so easily stopped. The very spirit of mischief seems to have taken possession of her. “Everybody except Louison herself,” she repeats. “ Could you—could you not help me a little when she comes?” asked Hans in an undertone which is meant for Gretchen’s ear alone, but which reaches several other pairs of ears besides. Gretchen laughs. “Not I. Manage thine own business, Master Hans. Besides, did I not tell thee that she is not coming? that, in short, thou art a day after the fair” —a vehement pull at the dress—“that there are attractions at Konigsberg”—a still more vehement pull and something like a groan from Hans—- “ a farmer, you must know, young, handsome and rich ”

This is too much. Louison’s patience and discretion alike give way. She scrambles up to her feet. “Gretchen, Gretchen, how can you, how dare you!” she cries, her cheeks all aflame. Of course there is a laugh from the whole circle. As for Hans, at the first sight of the unexpected apparition his new-found courage suddenly takes flight and he with it. When they look round t for him to explain matters he is nowhere to be seen. Possibly the remembrance of his late has produced a reaction; possibly the last piece of intelligence about the handsome young farmer at Konigsberg has proved too much for his nerves; or possibly he may be hurt and offended at the little trick which has been played upon him. This is the fear which troubles Louison. “ Oh, Gretchen, Gretchen, how unkind, to be sure! Who would have dreamed to hear thee say such things?” she cries. “ What a goose art thou to turn a little innocent bit of fun into such a scene, Louison! Why didst thou not stay quiet ?” “ I think thou wert carrying thy non--sense too far, Gretchen,” says the widow. “ See, thou hast vexed Hans and made Louison cry.” “ And he will think it is all true,” sobs Louison. * “Nay, nay, child,” puts in the old grandmother, consolingly, “ never fear. It will all come right in time. Most things do, if we will only have patience.” “He will know that it was all Gretchen’s nonsense,” suggests the old grttndfather. “ I will go and see if I can find him anywhere about and bring him in to thee.” “ No, no, grandfather,” cries the little maiden between her sebs. “It is all my own fault. Don’t fetch him. Don’t go after him. If he is angry, it is quite right—quite. He must think me to horrid, so bold. He must think I only wanted to hear him say ” “He loved you.” It is Gretchen, half mischievous and half repentant, who fills up the blank. “He will never say so again,” sobs Louison. “And wouldst thou care so very, very much if he did not? Eh?” asks Gretchen. Louison’s face is hidden in her hands. She does not see' a shadow that creeps stealthily every moment nearer and nearer to the open window. Gretchen stands before her. “ Dost thou indeed care for him so much, little one?” Louison does not look up. The words that she says are not many and are broken with sobs. But, few or many, they are to the purpose. More to the purpose than listening Hans would have dared to hope for—more to the purpose than he would ever have heard had he not played eavesdropper in his turn. Before they are fairly out of her mouth there is a rustle of the creeper outside the house, a leap through the window, and before Louison can turn to fly she is caught, caged, held fast in a pair of strong young arms. What need of more love-making when the love was made already? Louison protests. “ Oh! it was mean, I unfair of thee, Hans; I could not have believed it,” she cries.

But she dries her teaja, and Hans helps her. “ But at least thou wort as bad,” Hans retorts. “ I never could have believed it of thee, either.” “Then I suppose we must forgive one another.” * “I suppose we mast try.” And so they settle it. Ahd very soon after the wooden wedding comes another, where, we may be sure, laughing Gretchen. acts the part of bridesmaid. . • « ? ! “ ’Twas all thy fault,” Louison says to her, as they walk home. “Entirely,” echoes Hans. “I never should have thought of such a thing but for thee and thy tricks. But I forgive thee.” “ And thou, Louison?" asks the girl. . “ Well, I will see how Hans behaves in the sh ture. Twill tell ’on-4>n the day of my wooden wedding.” But as she looks up into her young husband’s face she does not seem to have much fear. “Ah! talking of wooden weddings, thou hast quite forgotten all about poor Margaret and her bracket,” says. Louison. “ I will give her a pair instead of one,” says Hans. And so they were all made happy.— Saturday Journal.