When they were nearing the house, Judy stopped again, and, for a long
minute, looked silently out over the moonlit river, while Brian stood
watching her.

"Hit is pretty, ain't hit, Mr. Burns?" she said at last. "With the hills
all so soft an'--an' dreamy-like, an' them clouds a-floatin' 'way up
there over the top of Table Mountain; with the moon makin' 'em all
silvery an' shiny 'round the edges, an' them trees on yon side the river
lookin' like they was made er smoke er fog er somethin' like that; an'
the old river hitself a-layin' there in The Bend like--like a long strip
of shinin' gold,--hit sure is pretty! Funny, I couldn't never see hit
that a-way before,--ain't hit?"

"Yes, Judy; it is beautiful to-night," he said.

But Judy, apparently without hearing him, continued: "'Seems like I can
sense a little ter-night what Auntie Sue an' youuns are allus a-talkin'
'bout the river,--'bout hit's bein' like life an' sich as that. An' hit
'pears like I kin kind of git a little er what you done wrote 'bout hit
in your book,--'bout the currents an' the still places an' the rough
water an' all. I reckon as how I'm a part of your river, too, ain't I,
Mr. Burns?"

"Yes, Judy," he answered, wonderingly; "we are all parts of the river."

"I reckon you're right," she continued. "Hit sure 'pears ter be that
a-way. But I kin tell you-all somethin' else 'bout the river what you
didn't put down in your book, Mr. Burns: There's heaps an' heaps er
snags an' quicksands an' sunk rocks an' shaller places where hit looks