Something of this came to Randi's ears,
but Endrid was so loving to her, and in such a quiet, almost humble
way, that she would not break off with him; only it made her a little
cool. Both his and her parents heard what was said, but took no
notice.

Perhaps just because of this talk they determined to hold the wedding
in great style, and this, for the same reason, was not unacceptable to
Randi. Knut's friends, the Pastor, the Captain, and the Bailiff, with
their large families, were to be among the guests, and some of them
were to accompany the pair to church. On their account Knut wanted to
dispense with the fiddlers--it was too old-fashioned and peasant-like.
But Astrid insisted that they must be played to church and home again
with the Bridal March of her race. It had made her and her husband so
happy; they could not but wish to hear it again on their dear
children's great festival day. There was not much sentiment about
Knut; but he let his wife have her way. The bride's parents got a hint
that they might engage the fiddlers, who were asked to play the old
March, the family Bridal March, that had lain quiet now for a time,
because this generation had worked without song.

But alas! on the wedding day the rain poured hard. The players had to
wrap up their fiddles as soon as they had played the bridal party away
from the farm, and they did not take them out again till they came
within sound of the church-bells. Then a boy had to stand up at the
back of the cart and hold an umbrella over them, and below it they sat
huddled together and sawed away. The March did not sound like itself
in such weather, naturally enough, nor was it a very merry-looking
bridal procession that followed. The bridegroom sat with the high
bridegroom's hat between his legs and a sou'-wester on his head; he
had on a great fur coat, and he held an umbrella over the bride, who,
with one shawl on the top of another, to protect the bridal crown and
the rest of her finery, looked more like a wet hayrick than a human
being. On they came, carriage after carriage, the men dripping, the
women hidden away under their wrappings. It looked like a sort of
bewitched procession, in which one could not recognise a single face;
for there was not a face to be seen, nothing but huddled-up heaps of
wool or fur. A laugh broke out among the specially large crowd
gathered at the church on account of the great wedding. At first it
was stifled, but it grew louder wit