Excerpt from Stringtown on the Pike, Vol. 1: A Tale of Northenmost Kentucky
My name is Samuel Drew, and I am now professor of chemistry in the University on the Hill. When I think of my boyhood, memories of the Kentucky pike arise, and I recall the experiences of Sammy Drew, a barefooted child. The boy who, in August"s heat, between noonday and mid-afternoon, dared to walk barefooted upon that road, raised his feet quickly. I know whereof I speak, for I often relieved my blistering soles by slipping aside into the weed-lined by-paths, preferring them, even if they passed near the honey-locust tree, under which danger lurked in the great brown thorns that always menace the barefooted boy of Kentucky. That pike is yet vivid to memory. Again I see the dust of bygone times. Again the sun"s fierce rays force me to greater laziness. Often I seek a shade tree at the roadside, there to find the grassy brink of a grateful spring and, leaning over the sward, bury my face in the hard limestone water, drinking deep and long. Then, thoroughly content, I sit on the overhanging sod in the shadow of the tree, and spatter the cool water with my toes, bathing a stone-bruise in the very fount from which I drank.
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