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THE BROOK BOOK 



rested in the shade of a group of fine hickory 

 trees, throwing the last year's nuts up at the saucy 

 squirrels, who enjoyed the fun from a safe distance. 

 They evidently felt secure in the fact that the Pro- 

 fessor wouldn't hit them if he could, and I couldn't 

 if I would. 



We were traveling south on the western edge of a 

 valley which grew narrower and narrower until it 

 became a mere notch between two distant hills, 

 now veiled with blue shadows. In the valley were 

 fields of corn and cabbages, which ceased abruptly 

 at the eastern ^dge, as if unable to climb the steep 

 bank. As we stopped to look, there rose a puff of 

 white steam from a puny train which came hurry- 

 ing along from somewhere. It seemed small and 

 helpless, clinging timidly to the side of the hill as 

 if afraid of falling. We watched it until it was 

 safe in the valley and headed for the town, and 

 then continued our journey. 



"Here we are !" said the Professor, as we reached 

 a small bridge and crossed to the opposite side. I 

 gazed about me. To th& east was the narrowing 

 valley, and in its center a silvery stream wandering 

 aimlessly lakeward. To the west I could see that 

 the hillside was cleft and wooded. To the south 

 ran the hot, white road. Beneath us was the rocky 

 bed of what might once have been a goodly stream. 

 But where was the water? 



The Professor was on before me, seeking the 

 shade of the trees on the south bank, and had not 

 seen my disappointment. 



"Well, I don't see the brook!" I called, rather 



