dship and harshness, and a troubled and
subordinate existence.

It was with that instinct to guard her from all the ills of life,
great and small, that Ben sought to prepare her for a possible
disappointment now.

"Mought n't git the road through, nohow, when all's said," he
suggested.

"What fur not?" she exclaimed, bringing her dark brows together above
eyes that held a glitter of anger.

"Waal, some o' the owners won't sign the application, an' air goin'
ter fight it in the Court."

She put her bonnet on, and looked from under its brim up at the amber
sky. It was growing faintly green near the zenith, toward which the
lofty topmost plumes of the dark green pines swayed. The great growths
of the forest rose on every side. There was no view, no vista, save
the infinitely repeated umbrageous tangle beneath the trees, where
their boles stood more or less distinct or dusky till merged
indefinitely into shadow and distance. Looking down into the river,
one lost the sense of monotony. The ever-swirling lines of the current
drew mystic scrolls on that wonderfully pellucid brown surface,--so
pellucid that from the height above she could see a swiftly darting
shadow which she knew was the reflection of a homeward-bound hawk in
the skies higher yet. Leaves floated in a still, deep pool, were
caught in a maddening eddy, and hurried frantically away, unwilling,
frenzied, helpless, unknowing whither, never to return,--allegory of
many a life outside those darkling solemn mountain woods, and of some,
perhaps, in the midst of them. The reflection of the cliffs in the
never still current, of the pines on their summits, of the changing
sky growing deeper and deeper, till its amber tint, erstwhile so
crystalline, became of a dull tawny opaqueness, she marked absently
for a while as she cogitated on his answer.

"What makes 'em so contrairy, Ben?" she asked at last.

"Waal, old man Sneed 'lows thar'll be a power o' cattle-thievin', with
the road so open an' convenient. An' Jeremiah Sayres don't want ter
pay no road-taxes. An' Silas Boyd 'lows he don't want ter be obligated
ter work on no sech rough road ez this hyar one air obleeged ter be;
an' I reckon, fust an' last, it _will_ take a power o' elbow grease."

He paused, and looked about him at the great shelving masses of rock
and the steep slants, repeated through leagues and leagues of mountain
wilderness. Then seating himself on one of the ledges of the cliff,
his feet da