the nonpareil, or painted bunting--a bird rarely seen north of
the Potomac.

An interesting object near our camp was an old, unused grist-mill, with
a huge, decaying overshot oaken water-wheel. We all perched on the
wheel and had our pictures taken.

At our lunch that day, by the side of a spring, a twelve-year-old girl
appeared in the road above us with a pail of apples for sale. We invited
her into our camp, an invitation she timidly accepted. We took all of
her apples. I can see her yet with her shining eyes as she crumpled the
new one-dollar bill which one of the party placed in her hand. She did
not look at it; the feel of it told the story to her. We quizzed her
about many things and got straight, clear-cut answers--a very firm,
level-headed little maid. Her home was on the hill above us. We told her
the names of some of the members of the party, and after she had
returned home we saw an aged man come out to the gate and look down upon
us. An added interest was felt whenever we came in contact with any of
the local population. Birds and flowers and trees and springs and mills
were something, but human flowers and rills of human life were better. I
do not forget the other maiden, twelve or thirteen years old, to whom we
gave a lift of a few miles on her way. She had been on a train five
times, and once had been forty miles from home. Her mother was dead and
her father lived in Pennsylvania, and she was living with her
grandfather. When asked how far it was to Elkins she said, "Ever and
ever so many miles."

The conspicuous roadside flowers for hundreds of miles, in fact, all the
way from Pennsylvania to North Carolina, were the purple eupatorium, or
Joe-Pye-weed, and the ironweed--stately, hardy growths, and very
pleasing to look upon, the ironweed with its crimson purple, and the
eupatorium with its massive head of soft, pinkish purple.

August the 22d we reached Cheat River in West Virginia, a large, clear
mountain trout-brook. It crossed our path many times that day. Every
mountain we crossed showed us Cheat River on the other side of it. It
was flowing by a very devious course northwest toward the Ohio. We were
working south and east.

We made our camp that night on the grounds of the Cheat Mountain Club,
on the banks of the river--an ideal spot. The people at the big
clubhouse gave us a hospitable welcome and added much to our comfort. I
found the forests and streams of this part of West Virginia much li