114 LAND OF THE LINGERING SNOW. 



I left the Tudor place and kept on round the 

 pond. First I came to an ugly wound in the 

 high bank, where gravel is being cut away to fill 

 " Black's Nook." Then I passed in order the 

 half-filled Nook, the white ice-houses of the Fresh 

 Pond Ice Company, the great gravel banks on 

 the western side of the pond, the swamp full of 

 blazing red maples, almost as gay in their blos- 

 soms as in their ripened foliage last autumn ; 

 the " geyser " where Stony Brook water, after 

 its long journey underground from the land of 

 Norumbega, bursts out in clustered jets and falls 

 foaming into Fresh Pond, and finally Mount 

 Saint Joseph itself, none the less picturesque 

 because the white caps of the Sisters are occa- 

 sionally to be seen flitting back and forth amid 

 its shrubbery. The white caps and their school 

 building are doomed to banishment under the 

 law of eminent domain, and in a few months 

 they, like the ice-palaces of the Tudors, will 

 have been made over to the past. 



