"Hit's just like hit's allus been, so far as I kin see, 'ceptin'
that the river's higher in the spring an' more muddier," returned
the mountain girl. "I was borned over there on yon side that there
flat-topped mountain, nigh the mouth of Red Creek. I growed up on the
river, mostly;--learned ter swim an' paddle er John-boat 'fore I kin
remember. Red Creek, hit heads over there behind that there long ridge,
in Injin Holler. There's a still--"

She checked herself suddenly, and shot a fearful sidewise look at Auntie
Sue; then turned and pointed in the opposite direction with a pretense
of excited interest. "Look down there, ma'm! See how black the old river
is where she smashes inter Elbow Rock, an' how white them waves be where
the water biles an' throws hitself. Hit'd sure git you if you was ter
git ketched in there with er John-boat, wouldn't hit? Listen, ma'm! You
kin hear hit a-roarin' like hit was mad, can't you?"

But the older woman turned to face, again, the quiet reaches of The
Bend.

"I think I like The Bend best, though, Judy. See how perfectly those
trees and hills are mirrored in the river; and how the water holds
the color of the sky. Don't you think God is good to make the world so
beautiful for us, child?"

"'Beautiful'!" cried poor, deformed Judy, in a voice that shrilled in
vicious protest. "If there is a God, like you-all are allus a-talkin'
'bout, an' if He sure 'nough made them things, like you-all sees 'em, He
sure hain't toted fair with me."

"Hush, Judy!" pleaded Auntie Sue. "Please don't, child!"