"I hope it is a good article." "It is vile," replied Oscar.

"His brother makes it up in the hills, and it is as strong as wood lye." "Moonshine! I have heard of it.

We must have some for rainy days." It was a new world to John Armitage, and his heart was as light as the morning air as he followed Oscar along the ruddy mountain road.

He was in Virginia, and somewhere on this soil, perhaps in some valley like the one through which he rode, Shirley Claiborne had gazed upon blue distances, with ridge rising against ridge, and dark pine-covered slopes like these he saw for the first time.

He had left his affairs in Washington in a sorry muddle; but he faced the new day with a buoyant spirit, and did not trouble himself to look very far ahead.