Explore "The Bushwhackers" by Mary Noailles Murfree on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
It was the last month of the year, and the month was waning. The winds had rifled the woods and the sere leaves all had fallen. Yet still a bright after-thought of the autumnal sunshine glowed along the mountain spurs, for the tardy winter loitered on the way, and the silver rime that lay on the black frost-grapes melted at a beam.
"The weather hev been powerful onseasonable an' onreasonable, ter my mind," said old Jonas Scruggs, accepting a rickety chair in his neighbor's porch. "Tain't healthy."