NEW ENGLAND FENCES 237 



seldom elsewhere, is seen a fence made of slabs from 

 the mill, one end of each slab resting on the 

 ground, the other upheld by cross stakes. It is 

 not an enduring fence, and always looks too new 

 to be as picturesque in color as it is in form. The 

 common name of this fence is quite suggestive of 

 the perils that threaten whoever tries to clamber 

 over it, and he who has tried it once will skirt it a 

 furlong rather than try it again. The sawyer's 

 melons and apples would be safe enough inside it 

 if there were no boys, — but what fence is boy- 

 proof? 



Of all fences, none is so simple as the water 

 fence, only a pole spanning the stream, perhaps 

 fastened at the larger end by a stout link and 

 staple to a great water-maple, ash or buttonwood- 

 tree, a mooring to hold it from going adrift when 

 the floods sweep down. If the stream is shallow, 

 it has a central support, a big stone that happens 

 to be in the right place, or lacking this, a pier 

 made like a great bench; if deep, the middle of 

 the pole sags into the water and the upper current 

 ripples over it. On it the turtle basks; here the 

 wood-duck sits and sleeps or preens his handsome 

 feathers in the sun, and the kingfisher watches for 

 his fare of minnows, and the lithe mink and the 

 clumsy muskrat rest upon it. Neighbor's cattle 

 bathe in and sip the common stream, and lazily 

 fight their common enemies, the fly and the mos- 



