Clarence Monroe Wallin

“ From lofty crags and peaks he has many a time looked upon all nature, but here he is overcome by matchless beauty. He snatches up his brush, and under the inspiration the daubs of hard, cold paint begin to warm on the canvas, and resolve themselves into green valleys and peaks and shadows, a picture of the truth.
Into this same Blowing Rock—not the Blowing Rock on the page of a book—but the Blowing Rock of reality, the little picnic party from Blood Camp came bowling along, past the rows of summer cottages and drew up at the great rock itself.
“Oh, how beautiful!” cried Gena Filson. ”

“ It was the very stream that ran by Blood Camp. Yes, its fountain-head rivulet began not a hundred yards distant from the cabin in which Gena Filson dwelt tonight. Turbulent little stream! thought Paul Waffington. First an eddy, then a pool; then a splash, splash over the rocks, then a fall. Fall after fall, winding and twisting forever through the rhododendrons and laurels, always overshadowed by the tall hemlocks.
“Poor little Gena Filson,” he said at length. “I hope that her life will not be laden with as many dark turns, falls and corners as the stream on which she lives tonight.” ”

“ Thoughts were surging about in her troubled mind, reaching out beyond such trivial things as candy and flowers. Moving over to her window, she could see the great oaks on the campus towering up in the moonlight. Only a few moments ago she had sat under one of those oaks and listened to the ejaculations and babblings of “Mr. Texas.” Yet she had heard but little of what he had said to her there. The while she had found herself continually trying to recall the meeting with Paul Waffington in the earlier part of the night in the college chapel. ”

“ A country where thinly clad mountain mothers never suffer from hunger and cold; where little children of the poor and lowly never cry for bread; where hard toiling men of the world, if they be faithful, shall find rest under the shade of the tree. And methinks, tonight, in the border of that congenial clime, the mother of Gena Filson dwells budding and blooming—a flower more beautiful than the rose. ”

“ Waffington said that he would come back to see me again, and that he would be my friend,” she finally said aloud. She sighed as she looked away out over the domes and peaks of the Blue Ridge, saw the long golden finger of the setting sun kiss the hills good-night, turned and went into the cabin.
That night Gena Filson went to her hard bed with her heart full—it was heavy. She well knew that the morning would bring her nothing less than another solid week of hard and continuous toil, and, oh, could she endure it! ”

“ Gena Filson was herself again now, and was growing stronger each succeeding day. The rose was coming again to her cheeks and she was truly grateful for her existence. She smiled with satisfaction as she listened to the stub, stub of Emeline Hobbs’ wooden peg, as that happy soul busied herself about the kitchen work humming the while “Am I a Soldier.” ”

“ The superintendent, Miss Emeline Hobbs, had promised to faithfully stand by the little school and keep the spark of life going until the end of the year, when Paul Waffington had promised to return.
Miss Emeline Hobbs was rather large, with stringy red hair and possessed a deep bass voice. She had been born a cripple and walked on a wooden peg. But a kinder or better human heart never beat than her’s. During the long winter and throughout the hot summer she, with a few others, had kept the spark of life going in the little school. ”

“ How sweet it is to have father’s and mother’s strong arms about us to protect and bear us up! But one day the father’s strong arm shall lose its strength, crumble and fall; the home-nest is broken, and we shall go out into life upon our own responsibilities and resources to fight the battles of life alone.
How little the world knows of the adverse conditions under which a large per cent. of the children of our own Appalachian region must struggle in their earlier and tender years. ”

“ But since the imprisonment of Lucky Joe, and finally his death, the old still up in the cove had been idle for a long time. There was not another man in all Blood Camp that old Jase Dillenburger was willing to take in partnership. But the smell of the mash in his nose and the longing for the old business had led him lately to resume the operation of the still alone.
This very night we see him slowly climbing up the mountainside towards his home. The eye follows him through the twilight as he slowly ascends. ”

“ The mark of Father Time is beginning to tell upon some of the fathers of Blood Camp now. And the children of but a few years ago are now young men and young women. The strokes of the blacksmith’s sledge upon his anvil in the shop are growing fainter now and farther between. And like the aged sledge its master has swung for years, the blacksmith, too, is growing old.
Summer is now over again. The first day of September is come, and Paul Waffington and his little family are making ready to return to their city home. ”

“ It was with great difficulty that Paul Waffington made his way through the throng, to the front. It had not been his lot to meet with Lucky Joe during his lifetime. But now, as he approaches the platform, he turns and looks into the casket. He beholds the face of an old man—past sixty years—with pinched features and a long, white beard, with deep lines in his face that the chisel of sin had hewn with no uncertain hand. ”

“ The sturdy toiler of the field puts forth his sickle in the early morning and gleans the long day through with confidence, believing that when the end of the day is come he can lay down his blade, go in at the door of his humble home and under the spell of sweet smiles and the merry laughter of those whom he loves, forget the toils of the day and find sweet rest and peace. ”

“ Nobody loves me!” she cried, in the late hours of the night. Then turning on her hard bed she fell asleep to dream. She dreamed of a beautiful country where people are gentle and kind, where everyone is friendly and just, and where little mountain girls never grow hungry or cold. And as she went forward in that land, Paul Waffington was the first to meet her. And together they went into the fields and wove garlands and coverlets of daisies, and stood at her mother’s grave, and Paul Waffington bared his head and laid the coverlet on the mound and tucked it with all but a feminine hand. ”

“ Slade Pemberton left Gena Filson with her heart all aflame that afternoon. She sat on the tuft of grass in her own yard looking down on the hundreds of peaks before her, and wondered how it would all seem to be beyond the hills, within the limits of some great city; to push one’s way along through the mighty throngs in the congested business districts. Then college! She had seen the pictures of colleges in the magazines and the catalogues—but to go to college! that would be altogether another thing. To get a real chance in life ”

“ And as he stood up in the cabin and gave the sweet little bride away, he could not but believe that she was passing into the hands of the noblest man that ever lived.
Then came the going away. Aye, the tears that were shed on that October afternoon! Not tears alone from the eyes, but tears from human hearts [106] as well, were those that Blood Camp shed, as the bride slipped away with the man she loved.
Into the great and mighty city with its whir and clank of machinery, and its passing throngs, Paul Waffington took his bride. ”

“ The artist, too, is found in Blowing Rock. He comes and finds both rest and profit. He walks out upon the great rock—the Blowing Rock itself—which projects horizontally out into space at the very apex of the Blue Ridge, and looks out into the very countenance of the great Appalachian system of mountains. He sees just in front of him Mt. Mitchell itself, in all of its midsummer glory. ”

“ It mattered not to them now, whether he had been a friend or an enemy during his lifetime, their respect now was [10] for the dead. The infallible rule of the gentle people of the Appalachian hills is to respect and honor the dead, friend and foe alike, and to “let the dead rest in peace;” therefore, when their feet on this sad day became benumbed and stiff with cold, there was not a murmur from any lip or rest from any stroke until the grave was finished.
Kind hands laid away the remains of Lucky Joe. Strong men braved the winter’s gale and did their part well. ”

“ But there was one thing still for which he had a longing desire to know, and that one thing was, how went life with Gena Filson. Well, he soon would know, and with renewed energy he mended his pace up the mountainside. Half way up, he stopped and looked down at the little village in the dark valley. Some two or three faint flickering lights was all that could be made out. The laboring men of the mountains retire early and arise early. Not all the fathers of the Blood Camp neighborhood idled away their time. ”

“ Paul Waffington was hungry tonight. As he sat by the side of the open door, the smell of the frying ham and the perfume of the baking corn-pone came to his nostrils, and his hunger became painful.
“Here, Cicero, Cæsar—come ’ere,” called the mother, as she went through the door and round to the rear of the little cabin. “Now, I want you two boys to listen to what I’m goin’ to say: We’ve got big company here [41] tonight. An’ I want to teach you boys a little more about your table manners. ”

“ The days following the rescue of Gena Filson and the period of her convalescence were trying ones for the humble folks of Blood Camp. Without exception, every man from the bottom of his heart was glad that the fingers of the law had finally reached out and taken hold upon old Jase Dillenburger. Yet, for fear, not a man had given expression to the fact to his next neighbor. ”

“ If I can do anything to make life easier for Gena Filson, I am going to do it, Uncle Lazarus. I know that Jason Dillenburger is mistreating his adopted daughter. I know, too, that to cross Jase Dillenburger’s path means death perhaps. But both Gena and Jase invited me to come to see them when I returned to Blood Camp, therefore, I have decided to go up tonight and pay my respects to Jason Dillenburger and his adopted daughter. Jase has naught against me, and I believe that he will truly be glad to see me. ”

“ Paul Waffington had not been disturbed by the bad deportment of Cicero and Cæsar Tolson. On the other [44] hand, he went to his bed in the corner of the cabin that night with a Contented mind and a rested body.
For a moment he stood over the bed holding the candle, and looked down upon the faces of the two sleeping boys. He shook his head as he looked into the ruddy faces, and wondered, if in future years they should not go forth from this mountain gorge with robust bodies and great, strong minds, and employ their talents in wielding a mighty influence to promote the brotherhood of man. ”

“ Now, if old Jase were willing, he might do something to help her to get a musical education. But, aye, would the old mountaineer let her go, if the college were found, board provided and tuition—and all paid? Would he be willing to let her go at any price? Would he ever let her go beyond the neighborhood of Blood Camp, for any reason? Well, at all events, thought Paul Waffington, he would do the best that he could for her. “Eat the best first” was the maxim of Boaz Honeycutt, and Paul Waffington decided that he would “do the best first” for Gena Filson. ”

“ For a moment Paul Waffington stood in the night with his eyes penetrating the darkness that filled the [59] valley below. Then, beckoning with his hand for the black man to draw near, he showed him the mighty Snake with its domes and peaks that stood up in the starry night. Then he pointed out the tall pines that waved on the mountaintop, then the stars that twinkled and shimmered beyond.
“Yes, Uncle Lazarus,” he finished, “far, far beyond where the stars come forth at evening time in their cars of gold, there lies a land of perennial bliss. ”