You are about to retreat in utter disgust when you hear the sound of footsteps on the cobblestone walk that leads around the house. The sound draws nearer. The wary photographer pulls his flashlight. Its bright beam plays upon the stone walk, catching first in its lighted circle the feet of a man. The light plays upward quickly. It holds now in its bright orb the smiling face of a man. A middle-aged man with pleasant blue eyes. "--could--we see--the owner of this place?" stammers the reporter. "You're looking at him, sir!" the fellow replies courteously. "What can I do for you?" It is a pleasant voice with an accent that is almost Harvard. "Who--who--are you?" the reporter stammers. "Hedrick's my name. Ray Hedrick! What's yours?" When the uninvited visitors have identified themselves the owner invites you most graciously to take a seat on the doorstep. You learn that this "eccentric old man," of whom you have heard such ridiculously fantastic tales, is and has been for a number of years telegraph operator for the Chesapeake and Ohio Railroad at their little wayside station, Kilgore. It is within a few miles of the mill town of thriving Ashland, Boyd County, Kentucky, and the county seat of Carter County. The little railroad station is within a stone's throw, as the crow flies, of "the haunted house." "Pleasant weather we are having," the owner observes casually. "Yes," the reporter replies reluctantly, "but this house--here"--the reporter is obviously peeved for having been snipe-hunting--"what about this house?" "Well," drawls the owner tolerantly, "a house can't help what's been told about it, can it?" "But how did the story get started--about it being haunted?" the reporter is persistent. The owner jerks a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of U. S. 60. "Is that your car parked over there?" There is in his tone that which impels you to stand not on the order of your going. You go at once--annoyed at being no nearer the answer than when you came. And still the curious continue to motor miles and miles to see the haunted house with the green gables. 8. SINGING ON THE MOUNTAIN SIDE Though there were and are people in the Blue Ridge Country who, like Jilson Setters, the Singin' Fiddler of Lost Hope Hollow, can neither read nor write, such obstacles have meant no bar to their poetic bent. They sing with joy and sorrow, with pride and pleasure, of the scene about them, matching their skill with that of old or young who boast of book learning. OF LAND AND RIVER APPALACHIA Clothed in her many hues of green, Far Appalachia rises high And takes a robe of different hue To match the seasons passing by.