Toward sunset a member of the family looked up the road and exclaimed, “Yonder comes the Tennessee widower!” and they all ran out to meet him. He set his saddle bags in the hall, and incidentally mentioned their contents, whereupon the bride elect took out the broadcloth suit and neatly folded it away in a bureau drawer in her room. In those days there were no trunks, but few spare rooms, and no foolish conventionalities. Along with the clothes was a fine pair of No. 5 pump sole shoes, to be worn on the wedding occasion. Mr. Fort had a small, shapely foot, and it was said the young ladies in the Dancy home, assisting the bride in her preparation for the wedding, would go every now and then and peep admiringly at those dainty pumps in the bureau drawer. Mr. Dancy made his daughter a bridal present of a nice black saddle horse, called “Indian,” and when they turned their faces toward Tennessee, mounted on this black and white steed, it must have been an interesting picture. Seventy odd years ago, think of the changes! For her traveling suit, the bride wore a purple marino riding habit, made with long pointed tight waist, with hooks and eyes beneath the waist line underneath, by which it could be temporarily shortened and converted into a walking suit, thereby saving her the trouble of dressing when they took lodging at the wayside inns or taverns, as they were called. (It will be remembered that a bridal wardrobe folded in saddle pockets afforded but few dresses for change.) A shaker straw bonnet, with a green berege frill, or skirt, completed her outfit. The headpiece of these Shaker bonnets, or “scoops,” as they were called, were shaped something like the cover of an emigrant’s wagon, and were anything but pleasant to wear in warm weather. On reaching the Tennessee River, Mr. Fort’s fine gray horse grew stubborn, and refused to step into the large ferry boat, and had to be blindfolded. The trip was a long and tiresome one, and the bride was laid up for repairs over a week; the scorching July sun had dealt roughly with her delicate complexion, and before she was aware of it, the back of her neck was deeply blistered from the sun shining through the thin berege skirt of her Shaker bonnet. The faithful servants did all in their power to make her feel at home; then and there an ideal home life began, and Mr. Fort was a prime factor in making it so. The following amusing story was often told of him: He had a nice herd of dairy cows, and among them was one they called “Stately,” the bell cow. Aunt Margaret was the milk maid, and she always carried along with her to the cow pen her ten-year-old son, Nelson, “to keep the calves off,” as they termed it. One summer evening about sunset, the family were seated on the front gallery, Mr. Fort, his wife, and their youngest son, the late W. D. Fort. They were quietly discussing the expected arrival next day of some favorite relatives from Paris, Texas, Dr. Joe Fort’s family.