rc the baying hounds make the size of the circle the
fox will take and where to intercept him. They can tell by the distance
up the mountain's side where the dogs are running whether the fox is red
or gray. They know by the sound a rock makes as it is dropped into the
stream the depth of the ford. They have even a classical finish to their
woodland schooling and they find a pleasure in noting that the bullfrog
sits with his back to the water as the moon rises and faces it as the
moon sets.

They know the signs of changing weather that will affect their crops.
The tints of the clouds that float above them convey a meaning. There
are cause and effect in the wind that continues in one direction. They
watch the actions of wild animals and fowls, and they are wise enough to
attribute to beast and bird an intuitive protective sense superior to
their own. They note when the moss has grown heavier on the north side
of the tree.

The steadiness of their poise and their silence in the presence of
strangers is not due to moroseness or the absence of active thought.
They have learned in the woods, if they are to be successful in their
hunts, to be personally as unobtrusive as possible, often to remain
motionless, and all the while to watch and listen alertly. Whenever they
can be of real assistance, no one can more quickly or more generously
respond.

They have their own standard of values in personal intercourse, and they
can wait patiently and in impressive silence. They are always willing
for someone else to hold the spotlight on their rural stage.

About themselves they are naturally taciturn, and public and unfriendly
criticism has been proved to be a hazardous diversion. If the thought
and comment of the stranger upon the mountaineer could be compared with
the keen and often humorous analysis of the stranger the score would be
found in surprizing frequency on the side of the calm and silent
mountaineer.

They give but little heed to the clothes a man wears but look clear-eyed
at the man within the clothes. They have no criticism for the way a man
says his say, so he has something to say. A noted college professor,
himself a mountain boy, maintains:

"I would rather hear a boy say 'I seed' when he had really seen
something, than to hear a boy say 'I saw' when he had not seen it."

Old Coonrod Pile lived in the valley until his life spanned from the
days when it was a hunting-ground of the Indians to the time when he ca