Dedication Page

TO FRANCES, MY WIFE

IN MEMORY OF THAT BEAUTIFUL SUMMER
IN THE OZARK HILLS, WHEN, SO OFTEN,
WE FOLLOWED THE OLD TRAIL AROUND
THE RISE OF MUTTON HOLLOW--THE TRAIL
THAT IS NOBODY KNOWS HOW OLD--AND FROM
SAMMY‘S LOOKOUT WATCHED THE
DAY GO OVER THE WESTERN RIDGES.

"That all with one consent praise new-born gawds,
Tho they are made and moulded of things past,
And give to dust that is a little gilt
More laud than gilt o‘er-dusted."

TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. ACT 3； SC. 3.

Chapter I. The Stranger.

It was corn-planting time, when the stranger followed the Old Trail into the Mutton Hollow neighborhood.

All day a fine rain had fallen steadily, and the mists hung heavy over the valley. The lower hills were wrapped as in a winding sheet； dank and cold. The trees were dripping with moisture. The stranger looked tired and wet.

By his dress, the man was from the world beyond the ridges, and his ca

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