In one sweep
of hillside view from our car window I counted seven church steeples.
I do not think it was a particularly good day for churches either;
I wished I might have passed through on a Sunday, when they would
naturally be thicker.
Along this stretch of railroad the mountaineers come to the stations
wearing the distinctive costume of their own craggy and slabsided
hills - the curling pheasant feather in the hatbrim; the tight-fitting
knee-breeches; the gaudy stockings; and the broad-suspendered belt
with rows of huge brass buttons spangling it up and down and
crosswise. Such is your pleasure at finding these quaint habiliments
still in use amid settings so picturesque that you buy freely of
the fancy-dressed individual's wares - for he always has something
to sell.
And then as your train pulls out, if by main force and awkwardness
you jam a window open, as I did, and cast your eyes rearward for
a farewell peek, as I did, you will behold him, as I did, pulling
off his parade clothes and climbing into the blue overalls and the
jean jumpers of prosaic civilization, to wait until the next carload
lot of foreign tourists rolls in. The European peasant is indeed
a simple, guileless creature - if you are careless about how you
talk.
