1 1 8 Clear Skies and Cloudy. 



moments. " He who runs must write," is the 

 law of their existence ; but " he who comes 

 among men must read," does not hold good. 

 If the record contradicts a careless precon- 

 ception, then the man is often brazen enough to 

 call Nature an ugly name. An old man who 

 looked on while others were digging went away 

 after hearing much discussion, muttering, 



" Place little reliance 

 On men of science." 



I do not wonder. But this creek of other days 

 had its pretty story. It flowed and fretted be- 

 fore Crosswicks Creek came into being. It car- 

 ried the sand from the adjoining hills and spread 

 it over a plain ; it bore ice with pebbles encased, 

 and dropped the pebbles with as little regularity 

 as plums in a pudding, often no plums at all, 

 like my piece of pudding when a little boy. 

 Storms occurred in those long-gone days, and 

 the waters were soiled. Mud and clay replaced 

 the clean sand and covered the bed of the one- 

 time stream. Such in brief was the story told ; 

 but there is another chapter. In the sand, and 

 often under layers of clay, were flakes of stone 



