Ellen’s chair was tilted back against the wall, her head against the white boards of the house, her dress, grown bluer in the dusk, turned to grey. The flavour of his travel and his carefree way emanated from his person and mingled with his music as he played tune after tune, “Black Joe”, “Rosie O’Grady”, “Nellie Was a Lady”, naming each one and asking for praise; or he fell away from his singing to tell some tale of wonder. ‘Just where the road curved up past a sawmill I met a man on his way to Adair County to bury his aunt and heir her money, on a high bay mare. Says I, “Do you know a man over in Adair owns a peach orchard half as big as the state of Kentucky?” I says. “Well,” I says, “I used to work right on that-there place, Gadley’s place, near Willett’s.” Well, he had to shake hands on it and said ain’t the world little after all, that place not three miles from his aunt’s property. Said old man Gadley was dead now and the peach orchard was all gone to rack and that was sad news to old J.B. because I’m partial to peaches. Did you get that point? As I came up from Greasy Creek once I met a parcel of travellers that owned a bear could read or tell fortunes – one, I forget which. Big brown bears and two little bears. They used to make good money on the bears before times got so hard. I recollect that bear had teeth long as my hand, and I recollect I wouldn’t sleep out that night although it was away after dark before I found a place to stay. I recollected them bears’ teeth. Say, while I don’t forget it I’m plumb a fool over you. Here’s a song gushes straight out of my heart.

Her cheek is like some bloomen red rose

All in the month of June;

Her voice is like some sweet instrument

That’s just been put in tune.