out,
stranger, he was a-lookin' fer Abe.

"Somebody tells Harve Hall, up thar at a dance on Hell-fer-Sartain one
Christmas night, that Rich Harp had said somep'n' agin him an' Nance
Osborn. An' somebody tells Rich that Harve had said sompe'n' agin
Nance an' HIM. Hit was one an' the same feller, stranger, an' the
feller was Abe. Well, while Rich an' Harve was a-gittin' well,
somebody runs off with Nance. Hit was Abe. Then Rich an' Harve jes
draws straws fer a feller. Stranger, they drawed fer Abe. Hit's purty
hard to believe that Abe air gone, 'cept that Rich Harp an' Harve Hall
don't never draw no straws fer nothin'; but 'f by the grace o'
Goddle-mighty Abe air gone, why, as I was a-sayin', the rest of
us--every durned one of us air a-goin' to be saved, shore. Fer Abe's
gone fust, an' ef thar's only one Jedgment Day, the Lawd 'll nuver git
to us."

A PURPLE RHODODENDRON

The purple rhododendron is rare. Up in the Gap here, Bee Rock, hung
out over Roaring Rock, blossoms with it--as a gray cloud purples with
the sunrise. This rock was tossed lightly on edge when the earth was
young, and stands vertical. To get the flowers you climb the mountain
to one side, and, balancing on the rock's thin edge, slip down by roots
and past rattlesnake dens till you hang out over the water and reach
for them. To avoid snakes it is best to go when it is cool, at
daybreak.

I know but one other place in this southwest corner of Virginia where
there is another bush of purple rhododendron, and one bush only is
there. This hangs at the throat of a peak not far away, whose ageless
gray head is bent over a ravine that sinks like a spear thrust into the
side of the mountain. Swept only by high wind and eagle wings as this
is, I yet knew one man foolhardy enough to climb to it for a flower.
He brought one blossom down: and to this day I do not know that it was
not the act of a coward; yes, though Grayson did it, actually smiling
all the way from peak to ravine, and though he was my best friend--best
loved then and since. I believe he was the strangest man I have ever
known, and I say this with thought; for his eccentricities were
sincere. In all he did I cannot remember having even suspected
anything theatrical but once.

We were all Virginians or Kentuckians at the Gap, and Grayson was a
Virginian. You might have guessed that he was a Southerner from his
voice and from the way he spoke of women--but no more. Othe