We went down the river that led into it, with awes as though we were trespassers against God Himself,—­as though He had made it too beautiful and too fruitful for the toilers of this earth.  And you who read this an hundred years hence may not believe the marvels of it to the pioneer, and in particular to one born and bred in the scanty, hard soil of the mountains.  Nature had made it for her park,—­ay, and scented it with her own perfumes.  Giant trees, which had watched generations come and go, some of which mayhap had been saplings when the Norman came to England, grew in groves,—­the gnarled and twisted oak, and that godsend to the settlers, the sugar-maple; the coffee tree with its drooping buds; the mulberry, the cherry, and the plum; the sassafras and the pawpaw; the poplar and the sycamore, slender maidens of the forest, garbed in daintier colors,—­ay, and that resplendent brunette with the white flowers, the magnolia; and all underneath, in the green shade, enamelled banks which the birds themselves sought to rival.

At length, one afternoon, we came to the grove of wild apple trees so lovingly spoken of by emigrants as the Crab Orchard, and where formerly they had delighted to linger.  The plain near by was flecked with the brown backs of feeding buffalo, but we dared not stop, and pressed on to find a camp in the forest.  As we walked in the filtered sunlight we had a great fright, Polly Ann and I. Shrill, discordant cries suddenly burst from the branches above us, and a flock of strange, green birds flecked with red flew over our heads.  Even Tom, intent upon the trail, turned and laughed at Polly Ann as she stood clutching me.

“Shucks,” said he, “they’re only paroquets.”

We made our camp in a little dell where there was short green grass by the brookside and steep banks overgrown with brambles on either hand.  Tom knew the place, and declared that we were within thirty miles of the station.  A giant oak had blown down across the water, and, cutting out a few branches of this, we spread our blankets under it on the turf.  Tethering our faithful beasts, and cutting a quantity of pea-vine for their night’s food, we lay down to sleep, Tom taking the first watch.

I had the second, for Tom trusted me now, and glorying in that trust I was alert and vigilant.  A shy moon peeped at me between the trees, and was fantastically reflected in the water.  The creek rippled over the limestone, and an elk screamed in the forest far beyond.  When at length I had called Weldon to take the third watch, I lay down with a sense of peace, soothed by the sweet odors of the night.