ch
of the advancing twilight. The hills were clothed in the same robe of
green that lay over the valleys, and through the center of the circle
flowed the deep Kentucky, serene and blue.

While Harry's thoughts at that moment were on war, he really had no
feeling against anybody. It was all general and impersonal. There
is something pure and noble about a boy who comes out of a good home,
something lofty to which the man later looks back with pride, not
because the boy was wise or powerful, but because his heart was good.

The twilight slowly darkened over green fields and blue river. But the
noble stone, with its sculptured lines, by the side of which Harry sat,
seemed to grow whiter, despite the veil of dusk that was drooping softly
over it. The houses in the town below began to sink out of sight and
lights appeared in their place.

Night came and found the boy still at his place. He could see only the
tint of the blue river now, and the far hills were lost in the darkness.
The chill of evening was coming on, and rising, he shook himself a
little. Then he followed a path down the steep hill and along the edge
of the river. But he paused, standing by the side of a great oak that
grew at the Water's margin, and looked up the Kentucky.

Harry could see from the point where he stood no sign of human life.
He heard only the murmur of deep waters as they flowed slowly and
peacefully by. The spirit of his great ancestor, the famous Henry Ware,
who had been the sword of the border, was strong upon him. The Kentucky
was to him the most romantic of all rivers, clustered thick with the
facts and legends of the great days, when the first of the pioneers
came and built homes along its banks. It flowed out of mountains still
mysterious, and, for a few moments, Harry's thoughts floated from the
strife of the present to a time far back when the slightest noise in the
canebrake might mean to the hunter the coming of his quarry.

A faint musical sound, not more than the sigh of a stray breeze, came
from a point far up the stream. He listened and the sound pleased him.
The lone, weird note was in full accord with the night and his mood,
and presently he knew it. It was some mountaineer on a raft singing a
plaintive song of his own distant hills. Huge rafts launched on the
headwaters of the stream in the mountains in the eastern part of the
state came in great numbers down the river, but oftenest at this time of
the yea