Gena of the Appalachians

It was late in the afternoon of a cold winter’s day when they sent for him to go and perform the last sad rites at the burial of Lucky Joe.

Far away from the great press of population and the busy throngs, in that part of the beautiful Appalachian country, better known to the tourist as “The Land of the Sky,” in the...

Immediately after the burial of Lucky Joe, Paul Waffington had seized the opportunity, when all Blood Camp was seriously reflecting upon the frailties of human life, and organiz...

In life’s glad morning a mother-bird warbled forth her song of praise. The soft and tender notes that she sang were sweet, and their melody told a story of love. The burden of h...

Paul Waffington was a Kentuckian. He was of that old Scotch-Irish type, of good blood, honest and poor, who, combining tact and skill, have always forged their way to the front....

Some are glad when evening comes, and hail with delight the first long shadows of the dying day. The sturdy toiler of the field puts forth his sickle in the early morning and gl...

Paul Waffington awoke with the birds on the following morning. He came out from between the two sleeping boys and the snowy white sheets at the break of day, went out and bathed...

Another day had grown old and was peacefully dying in the west as our hero drew near unto the goal of his heart. In the early morning he had come forth rested, with an elastic s...

Paul Waffington inhaled deep draughts of the crisp night air as he ascended the mountainside, and was refreshed. He had been glad to greet the folk of the little village after t...

The days following the rescue of Gena Filson and the period of her convalescence were trying ones for the humble folks of Blood Camp. Without exception, every man from the botto...

It was the first day of the commencement exercises in a grand old Southern college. A college that was founded more than a hundred years ago, by the indefatigable and persistent...

Back to the noisy city and to hard work went Paul Waffington. He turned over to the paper on his desk and read the paragraph again. It was the column of local items from Tusculu...

On the very top of the Blue Ridge, over against Mt. Mitchell itself, the highest peak of the Appalachian system, nestles the little village of Blowing Rock. The distinction of b...

But few, indeed, ever learned the truth of what it cost Gena Filson to withstand the persistent and irritating attentions of her would-be friend and admirer, Mr. L. Texas, durin...