ut of tbe JSeaten fl>atb 



to disturb his peace, for, seeing the weather-stained 

 roof of an old mill in the distance, I made that 

 point my goal of what at the start had been an 

 aimless journey. Field after field, gorgeous in 

 its August array, I passed over, and reached in 

 time a commanding view of an almost hidden val- 

 ley. What can be more inviting than an old mill 

 and mill-pond ? It stands the test of a true friend, 

 it is never tiresome. 



Nature has had ninety-two years in which to 

 repair the damages caused by building the high 

 dam that filled the deep ravine with water, and 

 now the pond is a fixed feature of the landscape. 

 The sloping banks have kindly adapted themselves 

 to the change, and a narrow beach-line of well- 

 washed sand slopes outward for a little way and 

 then disappears in deep, dark water. The whole 

 shore is tortuous, and every jutting point well 

 wooded; healthy oaks and vigorous hickories, 

 with scattered willows, birches, dogwood, and 

 flowering shrubs reaching so near the glassy sur- 

 face of the pond that the trees are as clearly pic- 

 tured beneath as they are darkly lined against the 

 unclouded sky. Nothing remains of the original 

 forest, and, following the lead of my fancy, I build 

 from the sunken stumps of long-gone trees the 

 forest monarchs that sheltered Indians in pre- 

 colonial days. The dark and dreamy light in the 

 narrow coves cast an eventide shadow over our 

 noontide thoughts, and surely, when night draws 

 10* 149 



