It was sunset when our happy couple arrived at the covered bridge on their way home.  It was such a cool delightful place, and, as George W.  was familiar with the beautiful wedding ceremony of the Cherokees, he thought it would be a fine thing to ask Polly to become his wife as they crossed the running water, indicating that he wished their lives to flow together in one stream.

Before they reached the Shrader home they had set their wedding day, which was to be in June and on the third Sunday, at high noon.  June, the month of months, when all the world is so in tune and brides carol their sweetest songs from morn until the night, flitting in and out the leafy trees with here and there a bluebird for happiness and a cardinal flaming his way across the meadows.

For this wedding there was much preparation as was the custom among the citizens of that day and time.  All the sisters and some of the neighbor girls lent a hand and soon everything was in readiness.

Each Sunday from the April morn until the wedding Sunday, the prospective bridegroom found his way to the home of his bride and each day that she expected him she climbed to the top of Cedar Bluff to watch the road and as she did so, it began to dawn upon her how much the road meant to her, and how much it had meant in the ages past to those who had traveled over it, she still had the yearning to follow it to the west, it became her road of love and dreams, because it brought her love to her and as he went away she would dream of the day she would journey with him.  I think Frank Grubbs must have had such a road in mind when he wrote his poem on Roads:

"There are roads that lead to fortune, there are roads that lead to fame
There are roads that all men travel, there are roads that have no name.
But the road that stirs my fancy, with its shadows and its gleams,
The road that to me is the dearest, is my road of love and dreams.

Sometimes is winds the alley, sometimes it climbs the heights,
Sometimes it flames with beauty, sometimes it broods of nights.
But never a road is fairer, never a road that teems
With wayside charm that's sweeter than my Road of Love and Dreams.

There are broad and stately highways, there are roads both strange and new
There are little windblown byways that are lovely to the view.
But I tire of roads of travel where the endless traffic streams
And I turn for contentment to my Road of Love and Dreams."