64 THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS. 



nice thing for a bit of land. You see, he had a peat 

 swamp of about three acres, lying in a hollow, mostly 

 cleared of brush, and with a small pond-hole in the middle. 

 The peat in some places was ten feet thick, and all the 

 edge of the bog was wet and springy for at least two 

 acres more. The whole was worthless as it lay, except 

 for the muck which it afforded, of which Uncle Jotham 

 never used a cart load in his life. The bog lay high, and 

 by digging about ten rods, through the rim of the hollow, 

 there was fall enough to drain the whole swamp, three 

 feet deep or more. Here Uncle Jotham was at work with 

 his men, like so many beavers. 



The main drain had been cut, and one could see how 

 these peat bogs had been formed. After the stones and 

 surface mold had been removed, it was a solid light-color 

 ed clay, which would hold water tight as a basin. Every 

 thing that run into that hollow, and everything that grew, 

 had to stay there. All the wood, brush, and mosses, that 

 flourished there before the country was settled, had de 

 cayed, and made a vast bed of vegetable mold. The 

 water, having no chance to get out, had operated as a 

 great millstone to press it together very solid. It had 

 now found an outlet and was making a straight wake to 

 ward the North Star, as if seeking liberty for the first 

 time. 



&quot; You are just in time, Squire Bunker,&quot; said Deacon 

 Smith. 



&quot; You have got another convert here,&quot; said the min 

 ister. 



&quot; Who would have tho t it ?&quot; exclaimed Seth Twiggs, 

 as he took the pipe out of his mouth, and blew out a cloud 

 of smoke, that made one think of a locomotive. 



&quot; Old Bunker will make fools of us all,&quot; soliloquized 

 Jake Frink, as he thought of the horse-pond and the lead 

 pipe leading to his barn. 



&quot;Good morning, Uncle Jotham,&quot; said I. &quot; I thought you 



