A VANISHING ROMANCE 217 
be going with honest intentions you would not find 
any one when you got there. You might notice, 
however, a man sauntering along the path ahead of 
you, loudly whistling. 
Yes, the moonshiner seems almost to have van- 
ished from many parts of the North Carolina moun- 
tains, with whatever of romance the story-books 
have attached to him. The people who still demand 
strong waters may know how to get them, but one 
no longer sees the patteran of Saturday evenings, 
nor those rows of odd-smelling molasses jugs on the 
platform of the railway station, fearlessly awaiting 
the coming of the train. 
