14 NORTH CAROLINA 



what I may call the interstate character of 

 our day's ride. 



"Indeed! And how soon shall we get 

 into Georgia?" 



" When we cross the Chattoogy Kiver." 



"The Chattooga? What is that? A 

 branch of the Savannah ? " 



"Yes, sir." 



"How do you spell it?" 



" I do not know, sir." 



My driver had certain verbal niceties of 

 his own ; he never said " don't." As for his 

 inability to spell " Chattooga," or " Chatuga," 

 he was little to be blamed for that. The 

 atlas-makers are no better off. 



By and by we forded a sizeable stream. 



"Now, then, we are crossing into Geor- 

 gia ? " I began again. 



" No, sir ; this is not the Chattoogy, but 

 one of its prongs." 



Finally, at high noon, we dropped into a 

 hot and breezeless valley, with the Chattooga 

 running through it in the sun. Here was a 



farm. Mr. lived here, and kept a kind 



of half-way house for travelers. But we 

 would not stop at it, the driver said, if it 

 was all the same to me. There was another 



