[Penelope’s Experiences in Scotland by Kate Douglas Wiggin]@TWC D-Link book
Penelope’s Experiences in Scotland

CHAPTER XXVII
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He persuaded me that the Atlantic is an ower large body of water to roll between two lovers, and I agreed with all my heart.
A wedding was arranged, mostly by telegraph, in six hours.

The Reverend Ronald and the Friar are to perform the ceremony; a dear old painter friend of mine, a London R.A., will come to give me away; Francesca will be my maid of honour; Elizabeth Ardmore and Jean Dalziel, my bridemaidens; Robin Anstruther, the best man; while Jamie and Ralph will be kilted pages-in-waiting, and Lady Ardmore will give the breakfast at the Castle.
Never was there such generosity, such hospitality, such wealth of friendship! True, I have no wedding finery; but as I am perforce a Scottish bride, I can be married in the white gown with the silver thistles in which I went to Holyrood.
Mr.Anstruther took a night train to and from London to choose the bouquets and bridal souvenirs.

Lady Baird has sent the veil, and a wonderful diamond thistle to pin it on,--a jewel fit for a princess! With the dear Dominie's note promising to be an usher came an antique silver casket filled with white heather.

And as for the bride-cake, it is one of Salemina's gifts, chosen as much in a spirit of fun as affection.

It is surely appropriate for this American wedding transplanted to Scottish soil, and what should it be but a model, in fairy icing, of Sir Walter's beautiful monument in Princes Street! Of course Francesca is full of nonsensical quips about it, and says that the Edinburgh jail would have been just as fine architecturally (it is, in truth, a building beautiful enough to tempt an aesthete to crime), and a much more fitting symbol for a wedding-cake, unless, indeed, she adds, Salemina intends her gift to be a monument to my folly.
Pettybaw kirk is trimmed with yellow broom from these dear Scottish banks and braes; and waving their green fans and plumes up and down the aisle where I shall walk a bride, are tall ferns and bracken from Crummylowe Glen, where we played ballads.
As I look back upon it, the life here has been all a ballad from first to last.


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