"Old Wabash is a twister for curvin' and windin' round, an' it's
limestone bed half the way, an' the water's as pretty an' clear
as in Maria's springhouse. An' as for trimmin', why say, Mr.
Redbird, I'll jest leave it to you if she ain't all trimmed up
like a woman's spring bunnit. Look at the grass a-creepin' right
down till it's a trailin' in the water! Did you ever see jest
quite such fine fringy willers? An' you wait a little, an' the
flowerin' mallows 'at grows long the shinin' old river are fine
as garden hollyhocks. Maria says 'at thy'd be purtier 'an hers
if they were only double; but, Lord, Mr. Redbird, they are! See
'em once on the bank, an' agin in the water! An' back a little
an' there's jest thickets of papaw, an' thorns, an' wild
grape-vines, an' crab, an' red an' black haw, an' dogwood, an'
sumac, an' spicebush, an' trees! Lord! Mr. Redbird, the
sycamores, an' maples, an' tulip, an' ash, an' elm trees are so
bustin' fine 'long the old Wabash they put 'em into poetry books
an' sing songs about 'em. What do you think o' that? Jest back
o' you a little there's a sycamore split into five trunks, any
one o' them a famous big tree, tops up 'mong the clouds, an'
roots diggin' under the old river; an' over a little farther's a
maple 'at's eight big trees in one. Most anything you can name,
you can find it 'long this ole Wabash, if you only know where to
hunt for it.

"They's mighty few white men takes the trouble to look, but the
Indians used to know. They'd come canoein' an' fishin' down the
river an' camp under these very trees, an' Ma 'ud git so mad at
the old squaws. Settlers wasn't so thick then, an' you had to be
mighty careful not to rile 'em, an' they'd come a-trapesin' with
their wild berries. Woods full o' berries! Anybody could get