20. CHAPTER XX.
HOW THEY ALL ROMPED MERRILY, AND WHO GOT THE SLIPPER.
It was a hearty and cheerful sight to see old hunter
John upon that merry day. He seemed to have returned
to his boyhood once again, and when he took the head of
the table, with his wife at the foot and Sally at his side,
you should have seen him! He was clad like all his
guests—Doctor Thomas only excepted—in the ornamented
hunting shirt of the mountaineers, leggings,
stockings, and high-buttoned vest; an enormous collar
sawed his ears, confined by a narrow ribbon, bound
around his broad muscular throat; and his iron-gray hair
was gathered in a queue behind.
But no one saw his dress, or dreamed of the existence
of the queue; the smile of joy and pride, illuminating
gloriously the broad bright-eyed face, alone was visible;
and when the hunter stood up with a mighty cup raised
in his right hand and drank “to the young people's happy
times,” all the company rose as if on springs, and a shout
broke from them which was heard far off upon the
mountain side, and made the house vibrate with very
joy, and wholly drowned the merrily-laughing fiddle
which was perched in the corner, over the revelers' heads,
with standing orders never to stop a moment to take
breath, but do its best to drown the clatter of plates, and
silence every voice!
It was not long before the scramble for the slipper of
the bride commenced. This new—or rather very old—
mode of “hunting the slipper,” was simply to obtain by
stratagem or other means while she sat at table, the
slipper of the bride, and he who succeeded in gaining
possession of it spite of her struggles, and of the efforts
of the groomsmen in her defense, was entitled to two
kisses, and a bottle of wine—declared by long established
and well-known usage his appropriate reward.
First, one of the young men would come behind her
chair, and commence an indifferent conversation—then
bend down to admire the new ring upon the fair hand of
the bride; then suddenly the meaning of all this man
œuvring would betray itself in a quick dart at the little
shoe firmly fixed on the little foot beneath the table.
But the shoe was not so easily captured—and most probably
the adventurous wight was caught by the attentive
groomsmen, and thrown staggering back; or worse still, a
ringing sound was heard, and he retreated with tingling
cheek from the offended bride. Every stratagem possible
was used, every effort made to get possession of the slipper,
and we may assert with perfect safety that the bottle
of wine was not the prize so warmly struggled for by the
young mountaineers. Sally was too honest and reasonable
to dispute the right acquired by the fortunate person,
and she made every exertion to preserve herself from the
threatened kisses.
At last the struggle for a moment ceased; they were
taking breath.
“Brave girl!” cried old father Von Horn who sat at
her side, and had watched the romping with vast delight;
“I know she's a match for you all, boys! no kisses for
you here! You will have to confine your embraces to
your own sweethearts;” here the old man looked mischievously
around on the young girls.
They all tossed their heads.
“Pshaw!” he cried, “you know I am joking, my
daughters. But I was saying that this little shoe here
was safe still, and in— how long is it, friend Myers—”
“In ten minutes it'll be out,” said hunter John, looking
at a Dutch clock over the mantle-piece. “The time will
then be up, and we'll get to the dancing, girls.”
“Oh, yes!” they all exclaimed, “let us have the
dancing soon!”
“I love so much to dance!”
“I'm your partner, recollect!”
“No, you are not for the first reel!”
“What a merry fiddle!”
In the midst of this burst of talk, Sally turned to
father Von Horn with a beseeching look.
The old man laughed significantly.
“Do you want any of these youngsters to get the
shoe?” he said.
“Oh, no! father Von Horn,” with great energy.
“Eh? not one?”
“Indeed I wouldn't let a single one touch it—if I
could help it. But I can't! I don't think I can keep it
on my foot,” said the girl, laughing; “I thought that last
pull of Doctor Thomas would certainly bring it off.”
“Come now, is there no one here you have less objection
to kiss?”
“I hate to think of kissing any.”
“Why, what a cruel little chit!”
“Oh, father Von Horn!” said Sally, laughing, “to
think that some one of these rough boys should take off
Barry's kiss;” her voice sank at these last words and she
blushed and smiled.
“To say nothing of the bottle of good old wine.”
“Oh, any body may have that—there it is on the
mantle-piece,” she said; and then in the softest and most
caressing tone of voice:
“Do you like Madeira wine, father Von Horn!” asked
the little witch.
The old man laughed loudly.
“Why, yes!” said he, “but I'm afraid I shall get none
of it to-night, as you won't let any one take the slipper;
a pretty little shoe it is,” said the old man, glancing at
the small foot, “the doctor there, says it's so small he
can't grasp it with his hand!”
“Oh, he's a great flatterer, father Von Horn! But I
didn't say I wouldn't let any one take my slipper, as you
say—”
“What—!”
“Not in the least, father Von Horn,” said the girl with
a sly and confidential smile, “I said none of the boys!
of course I wouldn't care if some nice old gentleman
could—”
“Treason!” cried father Von Horn; “was the like
ever seen! Come here, boys!”
“Oh, please don't betray me!” said Sally, beseechingly,
“please, father Von Horn. They would laugh at me till
I cried; and then you know,” she said smiling, “there
would be no dancing!”
“What are you talking about, father Von Horn?” the
young men asked.
“Why, I wished to say to you, my young friends, that
in five minutes the time for getting the slipper off is out
—then good-by to the kisses and the wine.”
The young men approached the bride carelessly.
“Oh! we have given it up.”
“Wholly.”
“It's no use.”
“Miss Sally has got the fairies to work her a slipper
and it is put on with a spell.”
But these careless laughing words only masked a more
violent attack than ever; and with such vigor and skill
was the onset made that the young girl only kept her
slipper on by the closest pressure of her foot. Suddenly,
father Von Horn cried:
“The bottle, boys! the bottle! see to it!”
All heads were turned to the mantle-piece, thinking to
see it fall; when the merry old man stooped down, and
with a quick jerk drew off the slipper and held it up in
triumph!
“The slipper! the slipper!”
“Father Von Horn, indeed!”
“It ain't fair!”
“I believe you let him take it, Miss Sally!”
“How can you say so!” she replied, laughing; “could
I think of it while I was looking at the bottle?”
But spite of this ingenious defense, we are obliged to
express our serious doubts of its sincerity. It was afterward
stated that Miss Sally, when all eyes were turned
away, had slyly bent back father Von Horn's stalwart
thumb; and that in obedience to the signal, the slipper
had been seized.
However it may have been, one thing is certain, that
the old man claimed the penalty; and the bottle gayly
decked out with ribbons was handed to him. He filled
the bride's cup, then passed it round; so it was emptied.
The rest of the penalty was more ceremoniously claimed
by the fortunate possessor of the slipper.
