"You're a rolling stone, but all the same we're fond of you in Albemarle." "I'm surely fond of Albemarle, ma'am," answered Adam.
"When I've rolled long and far enough and the moss is ready to gather on me, I reckon I'll roll back to a hillside in the old county.

I'm sorry to see the drouth so bad.

We've had a power of rain over the mountains." "Not long since, I had a letter from a kinsman of mine in Louisiana, and he spoke of you.

He said that up and down the rivers you were known, that the villages made it a holiday when you came to one, and that in the forest your name was like Robin Hood's." "Robin Hood?
Who's he ?" demanded Adam; then, "Oh, you mean the man in the poetry book.

I reckon he never saw the Mississippi in flood, and his forest would have laid on the palm of your hand.