166 A WEEK ON WALBEN'S BIDGE. 



description of a pleasant cold spring as 

 being situated not far from the "con- 

 fluence " of two streams. Con-Jliiens, I 

 thought, flowing together. Having always 

 something else to do, I omitted to call at 

 his house, and one day, when we met again 

 in the road, I apologized for my neglect, 

 and asked another favor. He was familiar 

 with the country, and kept a horse. Could 

 he not spare a day to take me about ? If 

 he thought this proposal a bit presumptuous, 

 courtesy restrained him from letting the fact 

 be seen, and, after a few minutes of delib- 

 eration, — his hands being pretty full just 

 then, he explained, — he promised to call 

 for me two mornings later, at seven o'clock. 

 We would take a luncheon along, and make 

 a day of it. 



He appeared at the gate in due season, 

 and in a few minutes we were driving over 

 a road new to me, but through the same 

 spacious oak woods to which I had grown 

 accustomed. We went first to Burnt Cabin 

 Spring, one of the famous chalybeate springs 

 of the mountain, — a place formerly fre- 

 quented by picnic parties, but now, to all ap- 

 pearance, fallen into neglect. We stretched 



