From his perch in the graveyard high up on the ridge, Louie gazed out over the low, rugged mountains. On this cold, wet November day, the fog lay heavy down along the hollers. Up high, where he stood, the mists were thin, lightly veiling the ridgetops and muting even further the sepia tones of the mountains in early winter. In this dreamscape, the thin, faint sound of a flute gradually penetrated his awareness. It was a melody he remembered hearing Cassie play when he was just a very small boy. Suddenly nervous, he glanced around the graveyard and then took a good hard look at Miss Cassie's grave, actually relieved when he saw nothing unusual.

Reassured, he listened more carefully to the flute, trying to locate the sound. He finally decided it must be coming from Aunt Cathy's place. He wondered if Big Bill and Billie had come up early, and decided to head down the ridge to Cathy's to see.