"How so?" queried Jim Irwin. "You'd more'n likely git shot up some," replied Mr. Simms, "onless you whooped from the big road." "I didn't know that," replied Jim. "I'm ignorant of the customs of other countries. Would you rather I'd whoop from the big road--nobody else will." "I reckon," replied Mr. Simms, "that we-all will have to accommodate ourse'ves to the ways hyeh." Evidently Jim was the Simms' first caller since they had settled on the little brushy tract whose hills and trees reminded them of their mountains. Low hills, to be sure, with only a footing of rocks where the creek had cut through, and not many trees, but down in the creek bed, with the oaks, elms and box-elders arching overhead, the Simmses could imagine themselves beside some run falling into the French Broad, or the Holston. The creek bed was a withdrawing room in which to retire from the eternal black soil and level corn-fields of Iowa. What if the soil was so poor, in comparison with those black uplands, that the owner of the old wood-lot could find no renter? It was better than the soil in the mountains, and suited the lonesome Simmses much more than a better farm would have done. They were not of the Iowa people anyhow, not understood, not their equals--they were pore, and expected to stay pore--while the Iowa people all seemed to be either well-to-do, or expecting to become so. It was much more agreeable to the Simmses to retire to the back wood-lot farm with the creek bed running through it. Jim Irwin asked Old Man Simms about the fishing in the creek, and whether there was any duck shooting spring and fall. "We git right smart of these little panfish," said Mr. Simms, "an' Calista done shot two butterball ducks about 'tater-plantin' time." Calista blushed--but this stranger, so much like themselves, could not see the rosy suffusion. The allusion gave him a chance to look about him at the family. There was a boy of sixteen, a girl--the duck-shooting Calista--younger than Raymond--a girl of eleven, named Virginia, but called Jinnie--and a smaller lad who rejoiced in the name of McGeehee, but was mercifully called Buddy. Calista squirmed for something to say. "Raymond runs a line o' traps when the fur's prime," she volunteered.