Each looked at the other. No one seemed able to say. David had not appeared at meeting on the previous Sabbath, and it was known that he had started for Marietta some days before that; further than this there seemed nothing definite to be learned.
Two by two the cavalcade set forth through the woods, now beginning to show a sparse leafage brought suddenly out by a day of warmth. Gay was the little company, for fun was the leading purpose of the hour. Some tricksters having started on ahead, an unexpected volley of musketry from an ambuscade gave cause for much plunging of horses, many shrieks from the lasses, and much uproarious laughter after the smoke had cleared away. There was no road save the bridle-path, and that none too good, but the roughly dressed company cared little for that, and, indeed, the more obstacles in the way of fallen trees or ragged grape-vines the better the fun. Clad in leathern breeches, stout leggings, linsey hunting-shirts, the men were a picturesque crew, while the lasses in their linsey-woolsey gowns rarely boasted an ornament unless it might be such as a few could show in the way of heirlooms like buckles or lace ruffles.
Arrived at last the riders tied up their horses, and all trooped into the house where the bride and her friends awaited the coming of the groom.
Jerry Hunter as leader entered first, and gave a sharp glance around the room. “Where’s Davy?” he blurted out.
Mrs. M’Clean’s cheek turned suddenly pale, and her husband cast a keen glance toward the door. “None o’ yer joking,” he said sternly.
“I’m not jokin’, as I’m a sinner,” returned Jerry. “Am I, boys? Isn’t Dave here?”
“No.” The word came sharp from the father’s lips.
His wife gave him an appealing look. “I hope nothing has happened to the lad,” she said in a troubled voice. “Ye’ve not seen him the morn, Jerry?”
“No, nor have any of us.”
“He was no at meeting on Sabbath day,” said the minister, gravely, as he came forward, “and he was sure to be home by then, he told me.”