Pussy Black-Face by Marshall Saunders

Mona and Dolly came draggling along, paused at the brink of the river, then, as if to say, "You are too beautiful to be polluted by our muddy coats," they came up on the bridge, and lay down by the carriage.

"This here river," said Mr. Gleason warmly, "is to my mind, though one of the smallest, yet the prettiest we've got. Up there," and he pointed his whip to the Green Hills, "it rises among the woods, and comes rushing down the steep slopes. Then it creeps into yonder belt of trees and finally comes out here, quiet and tired, and kind of spreads itself about in these pools to think a bit."