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The wedding morning dawned clear and auspicious,
with a laughing sun above the evergreen pines, and
on the many-colored woods of later fall; and a bracing
freshness in the wandering wind that gently caressed the
cheek, and brightened every eye. The stream danced
along the valley with a gayer music than its wont; the
golden leaves seemed laughing and chuckling privately to
themselves; the small white clouds came slowly floating
from the east and west with the veering wind, and pausing
just above the home of hunter John, were plainly
interested equally with stream, and leaf, and tree, in this
the wedding-day of the valley's “darling!”

Noon was approaching when an echoing shout—flying
and gamboling like a schoolboy on a holiday—came down
the valley, and gave warning that the company were
drawing on.

In five minutes the dell seemed alive with horsemen,
who galloping as though a rushing flood greater than
ever broke through Holland dykes was at their heels,
flew onward toward the house of hunter John. With
hair streaming—caps waved madly over their heads—and
heels dug violently into the sides of their flying coursers,
they came more recklessly than ever yet the riders in
any steeple-chase, toward the hill. For there awaited
them old hunter John—a mighty, ribbon-ornamented
bottle in his hand. Why need we add, those rushing roaring
mountain youths were “running for the bottle!”

Among the foremost, mounted on his gallant sorrel,
and thundering along with careless rein, and hand upon

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his thigh, was Doctor Thomas. The doctor was clad with
unusual elegance. He wore a laced velvet coat, a many-colored
vest, and his silk stockings and white-topped
boots were marvels of taste and richness. You hardly
looked at the rider nevertheless—so fine a sight was the
noble sorrel, with arched neck and glossy coat, flying onward
to the merrymaking, as though he too knew the
meaning of it all.

Behind the valiant doctor came a dozen other horsemen,
all at full speed, with coats streaming, hats waved
madly over head, and merry shouts; behind, for though
the speed of the mountain horses was great, the sorrel
kept before them all.

Suddenly, with a burst of jocund laughter all drew up,
checking their foaming horses, and yielding in the contest.
Doctor Thomas had reached the hill, sped up to
the door, and received from hunter John the famous bottle.
A shout greeted this performance, and the horsemen
coming up, the victor was congratulated by all. He
handed the bottle to a young mountaineer, on a swift
black mare; and in a moment the young man was on
his way back at full speed. Barry and the wedding
party were to drink of “Black Bess”—so they called it—
before they came on to the mansion.

By noon the guests had all arrived—among the rest
father Von Horn, and Nina, and—to the profound astonishment
of all—Mrs. Courtlandt! That lady was not
clad, as Doctor Thomas had threatened, in her singular
home costume of moccasins and coat, but in a plain dark
dress, which set off well her calm and refined countenance.
Hunter John expressed some consternation on
her arrival—mounted on the little white pony all knew
well—but soon this passed, and the merrymaking commenced.
The bride, had not as yet made her appearance;
but soon her door was thrown open, and the “darling”
of the valley issued forth.

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