The little boy walked across the road, with a bit of a swagger. “Yes,” he said, “Berry's a big ox.” He liked this strange man who understood and considered him. The man led the ox to the roadside, and standing by the beast's shoulder, set his knee against the bank. The little boy put his foot on the man's knee, caught hold of the ox's shoulder, and climbed up onto the sack of corn. He panted with the effort. “Berry's everlastin' big,” he observed in comment. Then he set himself squarely on the sack. “We're goin' to mill,” he said. “Where are you goin'?” “If you don't mind,” replied the man, “I shall go along with you and Berry.” The tiny chest expanded. “I don't mind,” he said, “ner Berry don't neither.” Then, as a sort of condescension, as a sort of return for the man's kindness, he gravely handed down the bit of ancient rope. “An' you k'n lead Berry if you want to.” They crossed the low gap and began to descend the mountain on the other side. The man walked in front with the rope in his hand, the ox followed with a slow, roiling gait, his head lowered, the child sitting astride the sack of corn. The sun seemed to linger on the crest of the mountain as though loath, now, to withdraw wholly from the world, a vagrant breeze began to move idly in the tree tops, a faint haze to gather over the forests, below the sun, as though it were some visible odor arising from the earth. The road was steep and rough, low stumps and the roots of trees remained in it, and it was washed out in great ruts. The winter rain had carried the loose earth out of it and left the stones and the tree roots uncovered. A modern vehicle could hardly have kept together on such a road, although it bore the marks of wheels where the mountaineer had gone over with his wagon. The little boy sat regarding the man who walked before him in the road. He seemed not to have felt with this man that fear of the stranger which is so strong an instinct with a child. From the first moment he had been wholly at his ease. He spoke without restraint. “Where's your hat?” he said. The man paused, and put up his hand as though he had not until this moment realized that he was bareheaded. A note of distress came into the child's voice. “You've lost your hat. Are you goin' back to look for it? 'Cause me an' Berry can go on to the mill by ourselves.” “No,” said the man, “I shall go on with you and Berry.” “But you ain't got no hat,” the child continued. “Perhaps I shall find one somewhere,” replied the man. “No,” said the child, “you won't never find one, 'cause nobody don't lose their hats up here. You'll have to buy one at the store.”