A Thousand-Mile Walk 
fall is obtained, a thing easily done in the 
mountains. 
On Sundays you may see wild, unshorn, un- 
combed men coming out of the woods, each 
with a bag of corn on his back. From a peck to 
a bushel is a common grist. They go to the mill 
along verdant footpaths, winding up and down 
over hill and valley, and crossing many a rho- 
dodendron glen. The flowers and shining leaves 
brush against their shoulders and knees, occa- 
sionally knocking off their coon-skin caps. The 
first arrived throws his corn into the hopper, 
turns on the water, and goes to the house. 
After chatting and smoking he returns to see 
if his grist is done. Should the stones run 
empty for an hour or two, it does no harm. 
This is a fair average in equipment and ca- 
pacity of a score of mills that I saw in Tennes- 
see. This one was built by John Vohn, who 
claimed that he could make it grind twenty 
bushels a day. But since it fell into other hands 
it can be made to grind only ten per day. All 
the machines of Kentucky and Tennessee are 
[ 36 ] 
