. Highways and byways of the South. e forlornest spots I have seen in theSouth. As for its springs, it has few enough of anykind and none that spout, though there is a legendthat certain of them once had that habit. The villageconsisted of a half-dozen houses of the poorest sort anda single rude, dingy store. To me the impression waswholly dubious, and I was surprised to find tacked upon the store porch among other notices a lead-pencilannouncement from the registrar of voters appointinga day for an official visit to the community, in whichhe declared it was the greatest pleasure of his life t
. Highways and byways of the South. e forlornest spots I have seen in theSouth. As for its springs, it has few enough of anykind and none that spout, though there is a legendthat certain of them once had that habit. The villageconsisted of a half-dozen houses of the poorest sort anda single rude, dingy store. To me the impression waswholly dubious, and I was surprised to find tacked upon the store porch among other notices a lead-pencilannouncement from the registrar of voters appointinga day for an official visit to the community, in whichhe declared it was the greatest pleasure of his life tocome to Spout Springs. What phenomenal polite-ness ! Near the station was a great concourse of tarbarrels, some full and some empty, and I concludedthere was nothing more to do except to go a short wayback in the woods to see the whole process of convert-ing pine trees into tar. I went into the store to get A Quest for Tar 293 directions. The stokeeper, a puclcered little manwith a piping voice, said that just where I would find a. Dipping Tar into a Barrel tar-kiln at that time he was uncertain, and he referredto some of the loiterers in the store. They talked the 294 Highways and Byways of the South matter over and decided the nearest kiln was one beingburned seven miles distant by a negro named Brinkley. It was already past midday and I tried to hire ateam, but no team was to be had on short notice atSpout Springs, and I determined to walk. Fortu-nately a little darky boy of the Brinkley family chancedto be in the store, and my advisers turned me over tohim as a guide. I surely would never have found theway alone. Beside the railroad adjoining the station were somemountainous piles of sawdust and the rotting fragmentsof a big sawmill. This mill had laid waste all thecountry around, and what had been a noble pine forestwas now a brushy wilderness growing up to tall trees were gone, and the road that the boyand I travelled was wholly exposed to the hot sunshine.
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Keywords: ., bookauthorjohnsonc, bookcentury1900, bookdecade1900, bookyear1904
