without concealing, the grey rock they proudly cling to, or that rises
in a protecting rampart three hundred feet higher than the cañon bed,
with banners of the long-needled pine waving above to proclaim the
perfection of Nature's undisturbed freedom.

The road descending crosses the thread of water still flowing among the
great rounded bowlders left by the former torrent, and our view is
changed to one of dense, but by no means melancholy, shadows, with a
crown of golden sunlight; and presently the course of the cañon turns to
the east, and it is all filled with the yellow rays and we notice the
bright red hawthorn berries, and masses of hydrangea still showing
remnants of their late profusion of bloom. We Missourians have a great
love of fine scenery and generally take long journeys into other states
in order to gratify the taste, while quite unconscious of the wonderful
beauty and grandeur of the Ozarks.

Where the cañon begins to broaden into a small sheltered valley as it
approaches Eleven Points River, we turned and retraced our way to the
forks, and a short distance beyond to a house where we might again
inquire. A woman came to the open door as we stopped and in answer to a
question said: "You ought to have asked me when you passed here a while
ago."

Apologies for the seeming neglect were offered and accepted, then she
explained that both roads went to Van Buren but not to Greer Spring,
where in due time we at length arrived.

The house being in one corner of a "forty" and the spring in that
diagonally opposite, there was a walk of nearly that distance before
coming to an old road inclining steeply down into what looked to be a