28 Bo^-Trotting for Orchids 



current of this stream continues with the bend of 

 the road, taking with it the volume of the water of Ball 

 Brook as it crosses the greater stream. The courses 

 of both streams are unnatural, having been removed, 

 over one hundred years ago, from their original chan- 

 nels in order to form a mill-pond for sawmill use. 

 Originally, I am told, a dense forest of pine trees occu- 

 pied the hollow where now the waves of Pownal Pond 

 wash over the decaying stumps. 



The natural lake bed lies in these broad, sphagnous 

 meadows east of Kimball's homestead, winding around 

 to the north, where now wave various small shrubs and 

 trees. Barber's sawmill, which stands close by the 

 roadside, east of the pond to-day, is slowly crumbling 

 away for want of use. Water finds its level, and al- 

 though forced to go by the roadside. Ball Brook still 

 seeks in part its old channels through the ancient 

 meadows of Kimball's Farm, where the stream is 

 silent and elusive, as it glides among the tall, lush 

 grasses. Walking along the borders of this hidden 

 brook, through the tangle mingled with daisies and 

 buttercups, I lost the stream entirely, only a line of 

 gold marking its sleepy wanderings, — for marsh mari- 

 golds were still plentiful here, ever following the edges 

 of the brook. 



Hellebore grew over the swamp, and the tall grasses 

 took on coarser forms as I waded farther on, deeper 

 and deeper into the sphagnous grave of the ancient 

 lake. At times it seemed so soft and spongy that 

 I questioned my safety, even doubting the possibility 



