The Washington herald., 1920-07-11

I AKELANDS Is not to be found
IL in the catalogues of, fashion
able summer resorts. 1t lies on a
low spur of the Cumberland range
of mountains on a little tribu-
tary Of the Clinch River. Lake
lands proper is a contented viii
lage of two dozen houses situ-
ated on a forlorn, narrow-gauge
railroad line. You wonder wheth-
er the railroad lost itself in the
pine woods and ran into Lake
lands from fright and loneliness,
or whether Lakelands got lost
and huddled itself along the rail-
1T home.
You wonder again why it was
named Lakelands. There are no
lakes, and the lands about are
too poor to be worth mention
ing.
Half a mile from the village
stands the Eagle House, a big,
roomy old mansion run by Jo-
siah Rankin for the accommoda-
ton OF visitors who desire the
mountain air at inexpensive
rates. The Eagle House is delib-
erately mismanaged. 1t Is fun OF
ancient instead of modern i'm
proyements, and ii Is altogether
as comfortably neglected and
pleasingly arranged as your own
home. But you are furnished with
clean rooms and good and abun-
dant fare; yourself and the piney
woods must do the rest. Nature
has provided a mineral spring,
grapevine swings, and croquet-
even the wickets are wooden. You
have Art to thank only for the
fiddle and guitar music twice d
week at the hop in the rustic
pavilion.
The patrons of the Eagle House
are those who seek recreation as
a necessity as well as pleasure.
They are busy people. who may
be likened to clocks that need a
fortnight's winding to insure
years running of their wheels.
You will find students there from
the lower towns, now and then
an artist, or a geologist absorb
ed in constituting the ancient
strata of the hills. A few quiet
families spend the summers there;
and often one or two tired mem
bers of that patient sisterhood
known to Lakelands as school
marms"
A quarter of a mile from the
Eagle house was what would
have been described to its guests
as IAN object of interest" in the
catalogue. This was an old, old
mill that was no longer a mill
In the words OF Josiah Rankin, 1t
was 'the only church in the Unit
ed States, sab, with an overshot-
wheel; and the only mill in the
world, sab. with pews and a pipe
organ" The guests of the Eagle
House attended the old mill
church each Sabbath, and heard
the preacher liken the purified
Christian to bolted -four ground
to usefulness between the mill
stones of experience and suffer-
ing.
Every year about the beginning
of autumn there came to the
Eagle House one Abram Strong,
who remained for a time an hon
ored and beloved guest. In Lake
lands he was called Father
Abram," because his hair was so
white, his face so strong and kind
and fiorid, his laugh so merry and
his black clothes and broad hat
so priestly in appearance. Even
new guests after three of four
days acquaintance gave him this
familiar title
Father Abram came a long way
to Lakelands. He lived In a big,
roaring town in the Northwest,
where he owned mills not little
mills with pows ard an organ in
them. but great, ugly, mountain
like mills that the freight trains
crawled around all day like ants
around an ant-heap. And now
you must be told about Father
Abram and the mill that was a
church, for their stories run TO-
gEther.
In the days when the church
was a mill. Mr.. Strong was the
miller. There was no jollier,
9ustier, buster, happier miller IN
all the land than he. He lived in
a little cottage across the road
from the mill. His hand was
heavy, but his toll was light, and
the mountaineers brought their
grain to him across many weary
miles of rocky roads.
The delight of the miller's life
was his little daughter. Aglaia.
That was a brave name, truly,
for a f1axen-haired fodder; bus
the mountaineers love sonorous
and stately names. The mother
had encountered it somewhere in
a book. and the deed was done.
In her babyhood Aglaia herself
repudiated the name, as far as
common use went, and persisted
in calling herself "Dumt.I The
miller and his wife often tried
to coax from Aglaia the source
of this mysterious name, but
without results. At last they ar
rived at a theory. In the little
garden behind the cottage was a
bed of rhododendrons in which
The child took a peculiar delight
and interest. 1t may have been