The tones were as different from the high keyed, slurring speech of the backwoods, as the gentleman himself was unlike any man Jed had ever met.

The boy looked at the speaker in wide-eyed wonder; he had a queer feeling that he was in the presence of a superior being.
Throwing one thin leg over the old mare's neck, and waving a long arm up the hill and to the left, Jed drawled, "That thar's Dewey Bal'; down yonder's Mutton Holler." Then turning a little to the right and pointing into the mist with the other hand, he continued, "Compton Ridge is over thar.

Whar was you tryin' to git to, Mister ?" "Where am I trying to get to ?" As the man repeated Jed's question, he drew his hand wearily across his brow; "I--I--it doesn't much matter, boy.

I suppose I must find some place where I can stay to- night.

Do you live near here ?" "Nope," Jed answered, "Hit's a right smart piece to whar I live.
This here's grindin' day, an' I've been t' mill over on Fall Creek; the Matthews mill hit is.