OK, THE WORLD HAS CHANGED. 125 



we were informed of a log-rolling and quilting close by, and 

 decided to attend ; but as we had not participated in the labor 

 of rolling logs, and did not like to intrude without some 

 equivolent on our part as a contribution, so bought a jug of 

 mountain dew and had it sent over to the frolic ; we were 

 welcomed and our present was well received by the boys. We 

 were introduced as the men from Californy, and we all took a 

 familiar smile from the afore-mentioned jug. 



The quilts having been finished and removed, the frolic had 

 already commenced. Our host, Jack Bradley, was the fiddler ; 

 his favorite tune was an old-time famous one, and widely 

 known as " Rye Straw," and Jack's performance was entirely 

 confined to the bottom part of the tune, but after a bit (like 

 the Arkansaw Traveler) I ventured to ask hira if he never 

 went up stairs on that tune ? He answered he didn't, because 

 he didn't know where the steps was, and handing me the 

 instrument asked if I could play the fiddle? I answered that 

 sometimes I sawed a little and put the upper story on " Rye 

 Straw " the best I could. It proved a ten strike, as I soon 

 discovered that I had become a very popular person. I showed 

 Bradley the stairsteps and soon had him educated so he could 

 go through the upper story of the tune. 



Suddenly I felt a slap on the shoulder and turning, discov- 

 ered my assaulter to be a splendid specimen of fresh mountain 

 girlhood, a beauty with rosy cheeks and sparkling eyes. She 

 said, " Californy, less you and me take a turn." 'JSTough said, 

 says I, as quick as a cat could wink its eye, and calling on 

 Bradley to give us the best he had in the shop, he promised to 

 empty out the gourd for us, and added : " Go it, Californy, if 

 you keep up with that gal there aint nothing in this valley too 

 good for you." Now, the tioor of the house, like many others 



