Excerpt from The Prince of Raccoon Fork

Along the bank of this river stood a small white cottage. Trees and shrubbery were abundant, while the honeysuckle vines twined themselves around the windows and doors. A narrow brick pavement led from the front door to the road. On either side of this pave ment were bushes of red roses. Here and there could be seen large clumps of yellow chrysanthemums and purple dahlias.

From the rear of the cottage one could easily see two miles up or down the river. Indeed, it was not an uncommon sight to see a raft of logs manned by one raftsman, who although alone, was busily engaged in playing a tune on his old violin while his raft drifted silently down the river.

It was about the year 1880. Raft after raft was floated to Cincinnati to be sawed into lumber and used for building purposes in that great metropolis. At any hour of the night one might hear the familiar tune of My Old Kentucky Home wafted across the water. Together with the midnight still ness this favorite melody was not soon for gotten.

Within the little cottage along the river lived an aged mother and her only son. The father had been drowned seventeen years before, when the boy was only four years old. From that time until her son was twelve years of age, the widowed mother had managed to keep the wolf from the door. But a ser ious illness, brought on by overexertion and eye-strain, had left this aged mother entirely blind.

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