ut of tbe JBeaten fcatb 



near, these same coves would be excellent spots 

 wherein to meditate. 



I have said that nothing of the old forest re- 

 mains, but forgot for the moment that the old 

 mill was built of it. Every one of the huge beams 

 remains, and in its present home is as venerable 

 as the lone wayside chestnut not far away, that 

 tempts the weary traveler by its ample shade. The 

 mill to-day seems more like a growth than an artifi- 

 cial structure. The huge foundation stones are 

 like uplifted rocks, over which the criss-crossed 

 beams have grown and still flourish. Then, too, to 

 further the resemblance, there are the wide weather- 

 boards, stained and streaky as the April skies; the 

 moss-clad eaves, and even the huge wheel, with 

 its dripping coolness, all of which have lost every 

 toolmark and suggest nature rather than man's 

 handiwork. The roar of the falling water at the 

 dam is as primeval a sound as the rustling of the 

 willows and broad-leaved catalpas that hedge it 

 in. There is not a trace of glaring newness to be 

 seen. Mill and pond, that once were scars upon 

 the fair valley's face, have been so kindly dealt 

 with by nature that the wound, long healed, has 

 no traces left of the violence to which, nearly a 

 century ago, it was subjected. 



Pausing but for a moment at the door, I 



plunged into the dusky darkness of the mill's 



wide rooms, all a-tremble with the whirl and whiz 



of revolving shafts, hoppers, wheels, and what- 



150 



