Ten minutes later, he said: "All the land this side of Troublesome, for a mile or more, was my paw's, and my part, four or five hundred acres, lays along here, from the creek to the top of the ridge. My house, hit's just out of sight up yander. Me and Charlie and t'other boys stays down here a lot in crap time, and this summer they aim to help me get out a lot of timber—yellow poplar. See them tall trees that lifts their heads so high above t'others, along the ridge and all down the sides? There's a sight of 'em. And them hills are full of coal, too, five or six veins of hit."
When they arrived at Aunt Ailsie's, Isabel was much taken with the ancient log house—the great fireplace, with its pots, spiders, and kettles; the loom, the reel, and the spinning-wheels and "kivers." But Aunt Ailsie would not let her spend much time looking. She set them down to a half-past-ten o'clock dinner, in order, as she said, that they might have a "full evening" before them. By eleven-thirty the three were starting up the mountain in the rear of the house.
Cornfields extended halfway up, and were so steep and crumbly that Isabel had to be pulled up much of the way by Fult. He and Aunt Ailsie took the ascent like goats, but had to stop frequently for Isabel to recover her breath.
Up in the timber, it was equally steep, but there were bushes and limbs to hang on to, and also the ground was solid beneath their feet. At last, after many rests, they reached the high rocks, a hard formation giving a castellated appearance to this ridge and others that billowed away in the distance. Through a cleft in the rocks, Fult led the way, and, emerging on the far side, they found themselves under an overhanging shelf,—a "rock-house," Aunt Ailsie called it,—which was dry and comfortable, with some flat stones to sit on, and from which there was a glorious view.
Aunt Ailsie was pretty nervous. "Get out on top and take a far look around afore I begin," she said to Fult.
When he returned, she removed her black sunbonnet, laid it on her lap, and inquired: "What'll I start with?"
"I already sung 'Turkish Lady' and 'Barbary Allen' and one or two more for her," he said. "The older they are, the better she likes them—them old way-back ones that come over from old England and Scotland long time ago."
"Yes," said Isabel, with enthusiasm; "think of finding one eight hundred years old, like 'Turkish Lady'!"
"Well, I'll sing you them my old granny teached me," said Aunt Ailsie. "I ricollect one has your name in hit; 'Lady Isabel and the Elf Knight' is hits name."
She began in a high-pitched voice, to a weird minor tune:—