DOWN THE ST. JOE RIVER 



and sun and shadow are forever alternating 

 on its surface. 



Its tawny waters are forever hungry. 

 Swift and impetuous the current sweeps 

 around the bends, and insidiously gnaws away 

 at the soft banks. The earth crumbles off 

 and slides into the river, the water takes on 

 a trifle darker tinge, and the current again 

 arches up and rubs off a little more of the 

 soil. When the moon comes up the process 

 is carried on more stealthily. There is the 

 same disintegration, the same chipping off 

 and carrying away, but it is all done noise- 

 lessly. Finally a part of the roots of some 

 towering sycamore, elm, or maple is exposed. 

 The current keeps grinding on like the pad- 

 dles of a water-wheel, and at last the entire 

 body of roots is left without any support save 

 for those fibres that reach back in the bank 

 beyond the wash of the current. 



After awhile these weaken, and the tall tree 

 takes a slant toward the river. The river can 

 afford to wait. Later on, there comes the reg- 

 ular spring freshet and the water rises high 

 above the banks and carries off the last vestige 

 of soil from the exposed roots. The water 



137 



