She was coming, singing, down the side of Nebo Mountain--"OldNebo"--mounted on an ox. Sun-kissed and rich her coloring; her flowinghair was like spun light; her arms, bare to the elbows and above, mighthave been the models to drive a sculptor to despair, as their musclesplayed like pulsing liquid beneath the tinted, velvet skin of wrists andforearms; her short skirt bared her shapely legs above the ankleshalf-way to the knees; her feet, never pinched by shoes and now quitebare, slender, graceful, patrician in their modelling, in strongcontrast to the linsey-woolsey of her gown and rough surroundings, wereas dainty as a dancing girl's in ancient Athens.The ox, less stolid than is common with his kind, doubtless because ofease of life, swung down the rocky path at a good gait, now and thenswaying his head from side to side to nip the tender shoots of freshlyleaving laurel. She sang: "Woodpecker pecked as a woodpecker will, Jim thought 'twas a knock on the door of the still, He grabbed up his gun, and he went for to see, The woodpecker laughed as he said: 'Jest me!'"She laughed, now, not at the song, which was purely automatic, but insheer joy of living on that wonderful June day in those marvellousKentucky mountains. Their loneliness did not depress her; indeed, toher, they were not lonely, but peopled by a host of lifelong friends whohad greeted her at birth, and would, she had every reason to suppose,speed her when her end came. Their majesty did not overwhelm her,although she felt it keenly, and respected it and loved it with acertain dear, familiar awe. And everywhere about her was the Spring.Laurel blossomed at the trail's sides, filling the whole air withfragrance; the tardier blueberry bushes crowding low about it had begunto show the light green of their bursting buds; young ferns were pushingthrough the coverlet of last autumn's leaves which had kept them snugagainst the winter's cold, and were beginning to uncurl their delicateand wondrous spirals; maple and beech were showing their new leaves. Theair was full of bird-notes--the plaintively pleading or exultantlytriumphant cries of the mating season's joy and passion. Filmy clouds,like scattered, snowy ostrich plumes, floated, far, far up above her ona sea of richest blue; a fainter blue of springtime haze dimmed thedepths of the great valley which a wide pass gave her vision of off tothe left--and she was rather glad of this, for the haze, while,certainly, it hid from her much beauty, also hid the ugly scars whichman was making there on nature's face, the cuts and gashes with whichthe builders of the new railway were marring the rich pasture lands.She turned from this to pleasanter and wilder prospects, close at hand,as her path narrowed, and began to sing again in sheer joyousness ofspirit.