THE HESPERIAN
the wheat fields; tho mowers swinging their
cradles and the binders following close be
hind. Along tho fences companies of bare
footed children were picking berries. On
the bridge a lank youth sat patiently
fishing in the stream where no fish had been
caught for years. Allen watched them all
until a passing cloud made the valley dark,
then his eyes wandered to where tho Bluo
Ridge lay against tho sky, faint and hazy as
the mountains of Beulah laud.
Allen still whistled lazily as he lay there,
lie was noted for his whistling. He was
naturally musical, but on Limber Ridge the
mouth organ and jewsharp arc considered
the only thoroughly respectable instruments,
and he preferred whistling to either, ne
could whistle anything from "Champagne
Charley" to the opera airs he heard tho city
folks playing in the summer at the Springs.
There was a marvelous sweet and mellow
quality about that chirp of his, like the soft
ened fire of tho famous apple brandy he
made from his little still in tho mountains.
The mountain folk always said they could
tell Allen Poole's whiskey or his whistle
wherever they found them. Beyond his
music and his brandy and his good heart
there was not much to Allen. He was never
known to do any work except to pour apples
into his still and drink freely of the honied
lire which came out of the worm. As he
said himself, between his still and the women
and the revenue officers ho had scarcely time
to eat. Tho officers of the law hated him
because they knew him to be an incorrigible
'moonshiner," yet never could prove any
thing against him. The women all loved
him because he was so big and blue-eyed
and so thoroughly a man, no was happy
enough and good natured enough; still it
was no wonder that old Sargent did not
want his daughter to marry the young man,
for making whiskey on one's own hook and
one's own authority is not a particularly safe
or honorable business. But the girl was
willing and Allen was very much so, and
they had taken matters into their own hands
and meant to elope that night. Allen was
not thinking very seriously about it. Ho
never took anything very seriously. Ho was
just thinking that the dim bluenoss of tho
mountains over there was like her eyes when
they had tears in thorn, and wondering why
it was that when ho was near her ho always
felt such an irresistablo impulse to pick her
up and carry her. When ho began to get
hungry ho arose and yawned and began to
stroll lazily down the mountain side, his
heavy boot heels cutting through the green
moss and craunching the soft slate rock un
derneath, whistling "My Bonnie Lies Over
the Ocean" as he went.
II.
It was about nine o'clock that evening
when Allen crossed the old foot bridge and
started down the creek lane toward the
mountain, ne kept carefully in tho shadow
of the trees, for he had good cause to fear
that night. There was a little frown on his
face, for when he got home at noon he
found his shanty in confusion; the revenue
officer had been there and had knocked tho
still to pieces and chopped through the cop
per worm with an ax. Even the winning of
his sweatheart could not quite make up for
the loss of his still.
The creek lane, hedged on either side by
tall maples, ran by a little grave yard. It
was one of those little family burying grounds
so common in the south, with its white
headstones, tall, dark cedars, and masses of
rosemary, myrtle and rue. Allen, like all
the rest of the Mountain men, was supersti
tious, and ordinarily he would have hurried
past, not anxious to be near a grave yard
after night. But now ho went up and
leaned on the stone fence, and looked over
at tho headstones which marked the sunken
graves. Somehow he felt more pity for
them than fear of them that night. That
night of ail nights ho was so rich in hope
and love, lord of so much life, that he wished
ho could give a little of it to those poor,
cold, stiff fellows shut up down there in their
narrow boxes with prosy scripture text on
their coffin plates, give a little of tho warm
n
