Moseley rambled through the rooms, indulging in a flowing
monologue which was as independent of an audience as a summer brook.
Mr. Meech sought a secluded spot under the stairway and nervously
practised the wedding service, while Mrs. Meech, tucked up for once in
her life, smiled bravely on the company, and thought of a little green
mound in the cemetery, which Sandy had helped her keep bright with
flowers.
They were all there, Dr. Fenton slapping everybody on the back and
roaring at his own jokes; Sid Gray carrying Annette's flowers with a
look of plump complacency; Jimmy Reed constituting himself a bureau of
information, giving and soliciting news concerning wedding presents,
destination of wedding journey, and future plans.
Up-stairs, at a hall window, the groom was living through rapturous
throes of anticipation. For the hundredth time he made sure the ring
was in the left pocket of his waistcoat.
From down-stairs came the hum of voices mingled with the music. The
warm breath of coming summer stole through the window.
Sandy looked joyously out across the fields of waving blue-grass to
the shining river. Down by the well was an old windmill, and at its
top a weather-vane. When he spied it he smiled. Once again he was a
ragged youngster, back on the Liverpool dock; the fog was closing in,
and the coarse voices of the sailors rang in his ears.
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