It was high noon on a gloriously sunshiny Indian summer day in November; one of the last fond concessions of Mother Nature to those who still mourn her departed “darling of the year.”  In a stately church on Chapel Hill, Golden Summer was at high noon in two hearts.  To Tom Gray and Grace Harlowe, as they knelt for a moment before the altar, preparatory to taking their vows of eternal constancy and devotion, the world held but those two.

In the sweet silence that pervaded the overflowing church, the two young voices rang out clearly as they repeated their solemn pledges.  Unflinchingly they had weathered their winter of despair.  It was eminently fitting that happiness should now flood their loyal souls.  Among the large assemblage that had gathered to witness the welding of that holy bond, there was not one person who did not rejoice with Grace and Tom.

Over a month had passed since that memorable October evening when Tom Gray, looking but a shadow of his formerly robust self, had set foot on the platform of the Oakdale station to receive the fervent welcome of those whose lives and interests were centered in his own.  As his arrival had been kept a secret, few by-standers were at the station when he arrived.  After the first rush of greeting had spent itself, he was affectionately conducted to Mrs. Gray’s limousine with herself, the Wingates, Grace, David and Jean as a bodyguard.  Though still weak, three days of rest had done much for him.  Whatever he still lacked in mere physical strength, he was the same buoyant, cheerful Tom, with only a slight limp in his walk, and a touch of haunting wistfulness in his gray eyes as a reminder of his terrible experience.

At home once more and surrounded by every luxury and with every consideration that those who loved him could offer, health came back with a rush.  His rugged constitution had stood him in good stead during those dark days in the sequestered hut, and by the first of November he was quite himself again.

During the days of his rapid convalescence, the earlier-interrupted wedding plans went steadily forward.  The bitterness of loss had doubly endeared Grace and Tom to each other.  Out of the ashes of suffering, affection had put forth a new growth which to them seemed completely to dwarf their love of previous days.  In proportion to the sorrow which had been hers when she wrote to her comrades regarding the postponement of her marriage was the supreme joy she experienced in writing them of Tom’s return.  With Tom at home and entirely well again, she felt that she could this time defy fate in setting her wedding day for the sixteenth of November.

And now the day had dawned, perfect in its autumnal beauty.  Though the trees were bare of leaves, the Oakdale gardens and lawns still flaunted a few late-blooming, rich-hued chrysanthemums.  Perhaps it was because of the dark season of suspense through which she and Tom had passed that Grace declared herself for the cheerful daintiness of a pink and white wedding.  In contradistinction to the weddings of her chums, who with the exception of Miriam Nesbit had each been accompanied to the altar by a bevy of bridesmaids, Grace announced that she wished the services of only a maid of honor and two flower girls.  Nor did any one complain when her choice of bridal attendant fell upon J. Elfreda Briggs.  As for the latter, she was in the seventh heaven of delight and wondered humbly how it had all happened.  Anna May and Elizabeth Angerell felt equally proud and delighted to have been chosen by dear Miss Harlowe as flower girls.

As the greater part of the townspeople of Oakdale were desirous of seeing Grace Harlowe and Tom Gray married, Grace rather reluctantly decided in favor of a church wedding.  Privately she would have preferred being married in her own home, but this she kept strictly to herself.  There was also another secret which she and Tom sedulously guarded.  It related to where they intended to go on their honeymoon.  Only Mr. and Mrs. Harlowe and Mrs. Gray had shared their confidence regarding their purposed destination, and their elders proved themselves to be good secret-keepers.  Withholding this bit of information was in the nature of a whim on Grace’s part, and though she and Tom were daily besieged with questions by their friends, no one had any serious thought of spoiling Grace’s little surprise by endeavoring to pry it from her smiling lips.

Apart from the Six Originals and her many intimate Oakdale friends of school and later days, countless others gathered from far and near to be on hand for the great day.  The Semper Fidelis girls had journeyed to Oakdale to a member.  Judge Putnam and his sister, Mrs. Gibson, Mrs. Allison and Mabel, Arnold Evans, the Southards, Eleanor Savelli, her father and her aunt, Miss Nevin, had all congregated to do her honor.  Even Professor Morton and Miss Wilder were among those present.  Mrs. Gray insisted on making herself responsible for the appearance of the Harlowe House girls, who received special permission from Professor Morton to attend the great event in a body.

Kathleen West, Laura Atkins, Mabel Ashe and Patience Eliot came to the wedding, as did Madge Morton and the Meadow-brook Girls.  In fact, Oakdale had the air of a town holding a convention, and it would not have been surprising to many had the streets of the little city suddenly burst forth in gay decorations.  As for wedding gifts, their name was legion, and Grace laughingly declared herself to be hopelessly embarrassed by the number of beautiful and costly offerings which poured in upon her.

Perhaps she was most deeply touched, however, by the arrival of a wonderful set of martin furs, sent her by Jean.  The old hunter occupied a front seat in the church, at Tom’s and Grace’s earnest request, his rugged face glowing with proud happiness as he watched the two young people united in marriage.  The ceremony over, Tom’s first act after saluting his bride, embracing his aunt and newly acquired mother-in-law and grasping the hand of Mr. Harlowe, was to beckon Jean to him.  “You come next, Jean.  You gave me my happiness,” were words which the old hunter treasured to the end of his life.

“For once I hav’ the honor to salut’ Mam’selle Grace,” smiled the old man as he gripped Tom’s hand.  Then he kissed the radiant girl lightly on both cheeks, after the fashion of his nation.  To him she would always be Mam’selle Grace.

Due to the flood of congratulations which constantly poured in upon the newly-weds, it was some time before they left the church to enter a waiting automobile which was to convey them to the Harlowes’ home.

In order not to slight anyone, an elaborate reception had been arranged to take place there after the performance of the ceremony.  The reception began shortly after the bridal pair reached the house, yet it was past five o’clock when the numerous guests had departed with the exception of a few of Grace’s close friends, who stayed to see herself and Tom depart on their honeymoon.

“At last the mystery of ‘Where lies honeymoon land?’ is about to be solved,” proclaimed Hippy, in a loud, jubilant voice.  Occupying the center of the spacious flower-decked living-room he beamed benevolently on the company of young folks who had tarried at the Harlowes’ to learn that very thing.  Gathered there were six of the Eight Originals, Miriam, Everett Southard and Miss Southard, the Savellis and Miss Nevin, Mrs. Gray, Mrs. Nesbit, old Jean, Kathleen West and Patience Eliot, Mabel Ashe, Laura Atkins and the Semper Fidelis girls.  Despite the goodly size of the room it was a trifle more than well-filled by those who waited till Grace and Tom should reappear to say good-bye before starting on their trip.  The latter had briefly absented himself to go on a mysterious errand to his aunt’s home, which they guessed had something to do with the secret.

They had been waiting together perhaps twenty minutes, when Hippy launched his loud, cheerful remark, for which he was laughingly taken to task by Nora.

“Why should I not announce that the momentous time is at hand?” he demanded in a purposely grieved voice.  “I am merely voicing the sentiments of the multitude.  Look at their eager, wistful faces and dare to say I am not right.”

“For once I’ll stand by you,” conceded Reddy graciously.  “I never expected to do it, but the unexpected sometimes happens.”  He sidled nearer to Hippy as he spoke.

“Is that a threat?” flung back Hippy, taking several cautious steps away from the approaching Reddy.

“It depends ­” began Reddy.

He did not finish his speech.  The sound of approaching feet on the stairs turned the eyes of every one toward the wide doorway.  A ripple of fond surprise circled the room, as Grace descended the last step to be met by Tom Gray.  Into the room, hand in hand, stepped two veritable foresters.  In his suit of brown corduroy, with his high-laced tan boots, Tom looked as though he were about to start on one of the long hikes in which he so delighted.  Attired in a trim suit of hunter’s green that reached a trifle below a pair of high-laced boots, the counterpart of Tom’s, except that they were small and dainty, a hat of soft green velour upon her golden brown hair, Grace was a true forest maid.

An instant and they were surrounded by an eager, buzzing throng.  Their very appearance told its own story.  Knowing them so well, those present understood the meaning of their unusual attire.  For half an hour the two lingered among these friends who were so loth to part with them.  Then the grandfather’s clock in the hall sent out its ringing chime of six o’clock.  Tom and Grace exchanged affectionate glances.  “It is time to say good-bye.”  Grace’s clear voice wavered a little on the last word.  “But when the last good-bye has been said, won’t you please all of you see us as far as the gate?”

A unanimous assent went up from every throat as their dear ones hemmed in the two foresters to offer them heartfelt good wishes and exchange final good-byes.  Heading a smiling procession to the gate, Tom and Grace paused to say a last word of farewell to Mrs. Gray and Mr. and Mrs. Harlowe, who had followed directly behind them.  Grace’s final caress was reserved for her mother.  For an instant the two clung fondly to each other, then, accepting Tom’s hand, Grace Harlowe passed through the gateway of her first home to begin her pilgrimage to a second that awaited her beyond Upton Wood.

The brooding tenderness that lighted Mrs. Harlowe’s eyes was reflected in those of the silent group that stood watching the two figures as, side by side, they swung bravely up the quiet street in the last warm rays of the setting sun.  An eloquent silence reigned as the intent watchers followed the progress of the foresters up the street to the point of disappearance.  It was broken by Kathleen West.  Out of the love she bore Grace Harlowe she had christened Grace, “Loyalheart.”  It seemed only natural that she should be the one to speak the epilogue to this little drama of human love and happiness.  Clearly and sweetly it fell on the still evening air:  “Having ended her pilgrimage in the Land of College, Loyalheart has gone to Haven Home.”