g the house where he'd lived seventy-one years. Often he had
visited the spot and picked out the place beside him where Miss Sallie
should be laid to rest. His life had ended almost where it began. The
house in which he was born stands only a few miles from that in which he
died.

"He built this house his own self," Aunt Sallie quietly reiterated that
evening as some of us lingered to comfort her. "We came here to Big
Creek soon as we married. We've lived here seventy-one year." Through
brimming eyes she gazed toward the new-made grave. "We traveled a long
way together, me and Dyke--" a sob shook the frail little body--"and
now, I'm goin' to be mighty lonesome."

Big Meeting is still carried on just as Uncle Dyke wished it.

In September, 1940, I went again to mingle with the hundreds who show
their reverence for the Good Shepherd of the Hills by keeping fresh in
memory his teaching through their prayers and hymns at the Big Meeting
each autumn. And here again a worthy follower of Uncle Dyke Garrett
eulogized his deeds and mourned his loss. And close by, for all her
ninety-two years, his beloved Miss Sallie, with a trembling hand on the
arm of a kinsman, listened intently while those who knew and loved him
extolled her lost mate.

And now Miss Sallie is gone too. She died on July 28, 1941, at the age
of ninety-three and loving hands place mountain flowers on her grave and
that of Levicy Hatfield far across the mountain.

TAKING SIDES

Some took sides in the feuds that have been carried on throughout the
Blue Ridge Country and thereby got themselves enthralled, while others,
more tactful, managed to keep aloof and remain friends with the
belligerents.

There's Uncle Chunk Craft on Millstone Creek in Letcher County. Enoch is
his real name. There's nothing he likes better than to tell of the days
when he was one of Morgan's raiders. Then, when he was only twenty-two,
that was in 1864, Uncle Chunk slept in a cornfield near Greenville,
Tennessee, the very night General John Hunt Morgan, who had taken
shelter in a house a couple of miles away, was betrayed by the woman of
the house and shot to death by Unionists.

"We were tuckered out," he said, "had tramped through rain and mud and
finally rolled in our blankets, if we were lucky enough to have one, and
fell asleep wherever it was. I burrowed in with a comrade. But we didn't
get much rest. For, first thing you know, seemed I'd just do