These dwellers in the southern mountain region, the purest American strain left to us, hold the interest and appeal of a changing, vanishing type. The tide of enlightenment and commercial prosperity must presently sweep in and absorb them. And so I might hope that a faithful picture of the life and manners I have sought to represent in Judith of the Cumberlands would be the better worth while.
eir troubles. Poor Pony Card plodded with bent head mutely behind them, a furtive hand travelling now and again to his eyes.
Such crowd as the little village had collected was following, Bonbright with the rest, when he encountered the girl who had come from the milliner's shop. She stood now alone by the sorrel horse with the side-saddle on it, holding the bridle-reins of the two mules, and there was a bewildered look in her dark eyes as the noisy throng swept past her which brought him--led in the hand of destiny--instantly to her side.
"What's the matter?" he asked her. "Can I help you?" And Judith who, in her perturbation, had not seen him before, started violently at the words and tone.
"They've tuck the boys," she hesitated, in a rich, broken contralto, that voice which beyond all others moves the hearts of hearers, "I--I don't know how I'm a-goin' to get these here mules home. Pete he won't lead so very well."
"Oh, were you with the men Haley arrested?" ejaculated Bonbright.
The story of the mountain people's loves and their hates.
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