which seems to the wiser ones so
far away from the trials, struggles, and worries of the world beyond.

And, curiously enough, when those of wider knowledge return to the valley
they find again the peace and tranquility which they left there, and,
breathing a sigh of relief, settle back into its restful atmosphere, and
tranquil content, as one settles into a comfortable old chair.

The nearest "real, sure-enough town" to the Corners is Sprucy Branch and
that is fourteen miles from Luray, with its famous caverns. To reach
Sprucy Branch from Four Corners one must drive or ride "a right smart
distance," and then to reach Luray take a railway trip or drive the
fourteen miles. It is a beautiful part of this big world, and the valley
is a happy one. Moreover, it would be hard to find a more delightful,
little social world than its gentlefolk represent. Not the formal,
artificial, rigidly conventional social world of the big northern cities,
where few have time or inclination to be absolutely genuine, but the
rare, true social life of the well-bred southerner, to whom friendship
means much, kinship more, and family ties everything. Whose sons go forth
into the world to make their mark, and often their fortunes, too, yet
still retain the charm of their up-bringing, the traditions of their
families, and their intense love of "the home back yonder." Whose
daughters, though brought up, "raised," they often say, in the simplicity
of country life, and more often than not having very limited financial
resources, are in the truest sense of that beautiful old word, the
gentlewomen we picture, prepared to grace their homes, or the outer world
and reflect credit upon the land of their birth. And this is the
conviction of her northern sister, the first of nine generations to be
born beyond the borders of the old Bay State, so she can hardly be
accused of a biased opinion.

And this lovely September morning, when the air holds just the faintest
suggestion of autumn, when the leaves are beginning to hint of richer
tints than the soft greens which they have worn all summer, when the
native birds are hobnobbing and gossiping with their friends who are
journeying farther south, "All the news of the north to the sunny south
bringing," and the squirrels are chattering and scolding as they gather
their hoard of chinkapins and other fodder for the long winter at hand,
something is stirring. Yes, stirring vigorously, too, if one may judge by
the