it and grope its way into the wilderness. The tradition runs that her
lover, who was a bark-peeler and wielded the spud, was killed by his
rival, who felled a tree upon him while they were at work. The girl,
who helped her mother cook for the 'hands,' was crazed by the shock,
and that night stole forth into the woods and was never seen or heard
of more. There are old hunters who aver that her cry may still be heard
at night at the head of the valley whenever a tree falls in the
stillness of the forest."

"Well, I heard a tree fall not ten minutes ago," said Aaron; "a
distant, rushing sound with a subdued crash at the end of it, and the
only answering cry I heard was the shrill voice of the screech owl off
yonder against the mountain. But maybe it was not an owl," said he
after a moment; "let us help the legend along by believing it was the
voice of the lost maiden."

"By the way," continued he, "do you remember the pretty creature we saw
seven years ago in the shanty on the West Branch, who was really
helping her mother cook for the hands, a slip of a girl twelve or
thirteen years old, with eyes as beautiful and bewitching as the waters
that flowed by her cabin? I was wrapped in admiration till she spoke;
then how the spell was broken! Such a voice! It was like the sound of
pots and pans when you expected to hear a lute."

The next day we bade farewell to the Rondout, and set out to cross the
mountain to the east branch of the Neversink.

"We shall find tame waters compared with these, I fear,--a shriveled
stream brawling along over loose stones, with few pools or deep
places."