The expression caught Jim's fancy, and he broke into a roar of laughter. The woman blushed and laughed with him. She couldn't understand what was the matter with the man. Why should he explode over the simple greeting in which she had expressed her pleasure at their arrival? Anyhow, she was an innkeeper's wife, and her business was to make folks feel at home--so she laughed again with Jim. “You know that's the funniest invitation I ever got in a car,” he cried at last. “We fly in these things sometimes. And when you said, `Won't you 'light,'”--he paused and turned to his wife--“I could just feel myself up in the air on that big old racer's back.” “Won't you-all stay all night with us?” the soft voice drawled again. “Thank you, not tonight,” Mary answered. She waited for Jim to ask the way. “No--not tonight,” he repeated. “You happen to know an old woman by the name of Owens who lives up here?” “Nance Owens?” “That's her name.” “Lord, everybody knows old Nance!” was the smiling answer. “She ain't got good sense!” the tow-headed boy spoke up. “Sh!” the mother warned, boxing his ears. “She's a little queer, that's all. Everybody knows her in Buncombe and Yancey counties. Her house is built across the county line. She eats in Yancey and sleeps in Buncombe----” “Yes,” broke in the boy joyously, “an' when the Sheriff o' Yancey comes, she moves back into Buncombe. She's some punkin's on a green gourd vine, she is--if she ain't got good sense.” His mother struck at him again, but he dodged the blow and finished his speech without losing a word. “Could you tell us the way to her house?” “Keep right on this road, and you can't miss it.” “How far is it?” “Oh, not far.” “No; right at the bottom o' the Cat's-tail,” the boy joyfully explained. “He means the foot o' Cat-tail Peak!” the mother apologized. “How many miles?” “Just a little ways--ye can't miss it; the third house you come to on this road.” “You'll be there in three shakes of a sheep's tail--in that thing!” the boy declared. Jim waved his thanks, threw in his gear, and the car shot forward on the level stretch of road beyond the house. He slowed down when out of sight. “Gee! I'd love to have that kid in a wood-shed with a nice shingle all by ourselves for just ten minutes.” “The people spoil him,” Mary laughed. “The people who stop there for the Mount Mitchell climb. He was a baby when I was there six years ago”--she paused and a rapt look crept into her eyes--“a beautiful little baby, her first-born, and she was the happiest thing I ever saw in my life.” Her voice sank to a whisper. A vision suddenly illumined her own soul, and she forgot her anxiety over Jim's queer moods. Deeper and deeper grew the shadows of crag, gorge, and primeval forest. The speedometer on the foot-board registered five miles from the Mount Mitchell house. They had passed two cabins by the way, and still no sign of the third.