Friedrich's tone was not enthusiastic, and he pulled his moustache gloomily. "Very much. They are charming young people. See, there are Tom and Katrina now, just turning into the field." Von Rittenheim raised his hat as Mrs. Schuyler waved her hand to Mrs. Carroll, and studied critically the bride's radiant face and pretty gown as the victoria followed the phaeton through the opened fence-rails. He found her charming and acknowledged it reluctantly, not because he begrudged her her beauty, nor because he thought her handsomer than Sydney, for he did not, but because he had a secret fear of the attractiveness of the brother of so fascinating a girl. "Tom," said Mrs. Carroll, as Mrs. Schuyler came to the side of the carriage, "I want you to know my very dear friend, Baron von Rittenheim--Mr. Schuyler. Now take the Baron over to Katrina, Tom, and then find Mrs. Morgan,--that's she in the red-wheeled buggy,--and beg her to come and sit with me here. Vandeborough," to the coachman, "drive me under that apple-tree, where there is more shade. How do you do, Eliza?" she said to a woman by whom the carriage slowly passed; "I'm glad to see you out to-day. And you, Mary. Jack Garren, is that you? You grow too fast for my memory. Ah, Jane, I hope your rheumatism is better,--and is that Mattie's Bertha? Stop here, Vandeborough. This will be comfortable. Ah, Mrs. Morgan, it is kind of you to make me a little visit, but I couldn't possibly climb into that buggy of yours. I don't know how you achieve it." "Nor do Ah, Mrs. Carroll. Ah thought it was high five years ago, when Ah didn't consider mahself overly fat, so you can imagine what the effort is now." And she shook jovially. "Is the Doctor here?" "Yes, indeed. He drove me. He always comes to these things. They generally need him before they get through, and it often saves him a long trip into the mountains if he's on the spot when things happen." "I dare say his presence prevents a good many quarrels." "Maybe so; but Ah should hate to have any mo' fights than there are. There's always whisky about, you know." "If the chief crop of this country could be changed, what a blessing it would be!" "Ah don't know as it would make much difference as long as potatoes were left." "And thirst." "There's Bob now. O-oh, Bob!" she called, waving a fat hand to her son as he cantered across the open on his gray. Bob looked about for the source of the call, and turned his horse towards the tree. "He's growing handsome, Mrs. Morgan," said Mrs. Carroll, in an undertone, as the tall fellow leaped to the ground, slipped the bridle over his arm, and pulled off his cap. "He looks as his father did at his age," returned Mrs. Morgan, fondly, glancing across to where her husband was talking to a group of lank mountaineers from whom he was hardly to be distinguished.