And through this dawn the men are moving, feeding stock,
harnessing their teams, and many of them sing as they ride to their work
in the fields, for they are content. The tinkling of the bells on the
cows grow fainter as the cows browse along the paths that lead to their
mountain pastures. Up and down the road in companionable groups the pigs
are moving, audibly condoling with each other over the lack of business
methods that caused the loss of the location of the entrance to the
field of corn. A crow flaps lazily across the valley, and over the crest
of the mountain the sun comes up.
And the summer twilight there is long, and as it dips into night a
drowsiness rises fog-like over the valley. When a half-moon hangs
between the mountains its light is that of drooping drowsy lids. The
lamps in the cabins on the mountainsides gleam but a brief time and go
out. The descending of the shade of night is the universal bedtime of
the mountain people.
An occasional swinging light may still be seen, but it is the
mountaineer giving attention to some trouble among his stock. Then,
there is silence over the valley, except for the chorus of katydids and
the whistle of the gray owl to his mate in the woods. Now and then there
comes the soft, faint clank of a cow-bell, different from its sound as
the cows run the road or feed in the pasture.
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