MY FARM OF EDGEWOOD 



end showed a broad, slimy flat, which was 

 alive with frogs and mudpouts. A few scat- 

 tered clumps of dead and seared alders broke 

 the level, and a dozen or more of tall and 

 limbless trees that had been drowned by the 

 new lake, rose stragglingly from the water — 

 making, with the dead bushes, and the lone- 

 liness of the place, a skeleton and ghostly as- 

 semblage. 



Mr. Van Heine had newly filled his pipe, 

 and was pufiing amiably, as I stood looking at 

 the property, and at the sandy hills which rolled 

 up from the further side of the pond, tufted 

 with here and there a spreading juniper. The 

 whole aspect, of the property was so curiously 

 and amazingly repugnant to all the rural fan- 

 cies I had ever entertained, whether aesthetic, 

 or purely agricultural, that I was excessively 

 interested. My red-bearded entertainer clearly 

 saw as much, and with violent and persuasive 

 puffs at his porcelain pipe, and occasional itera- 

 tive "dams" in his talk (which had very likely 

 sprung of unpleasant familiarity with the dam 

 actual) he became explosively demonstrative 

 and earnest. 



I hinted at the shortness of the water ; there 

 was no denial on his part; on the contrary, 

 frank avowal. 



28 



