"Where am I trying to get to?" As the man repeated Jed's question,
he drew his hand wearily across his brow; "I--I--it doesn't much
matter, boy. I suppose I must find some place where I can stay to-
night. Do you live near here?"

"Nope," Jed answered, "Hit's a right smart piece to whar I live.
This here's grindin' day, an' I've been t' mill over on Fall
Creek; the Matthews mill hit is. Hit'll be plumb dark 'gin I git
home. I 'lowed you was a stranger in these parts soon 's I ketched
sight of you. What might YER name be, Mister?"

The other, looking back over the way he had come, seemed not to
hear Jed's question, and the native continued, "Mine's Holland.
Pap an' Mam they come from Tennessee. Pap he's down in th' back
now, an' ain't right peart, but he'll be 'round in a little, I
reckon. Preachin' Bill he 'lows hit's good fer a feller t' be down
in th' back onct in a while; says if hit warn't fer that we'd git
to standin' so durned proud an' straight we'd go plumb over
backwards."

A bitter smile crossed the face of the older man. He evidently
applied the native's philosophy in a way unguessed by Jed. "Very
true, very true, indeed," he mused. Then he turned to Jed, and
asked, "Is there a house near here?"

"Jim Lane lives up the trail 'bout half a quarter. Ever hear tell
o' Jim?"

"No, I have never been in these mountains before."