CHAPTER VII. 

 MILL CREEK. 



THE wanderer in waste-lands comes continually upon 

 localities, shady nooks in the woods, quiet corners of neg- 

 lected fields, and weed-hidden recesses of forest streams, 

 that are suggestive of contemplation. Eagerness for ac- 

 tive exploration gives way to a desire for passive enjoy- 

 ment. Such a spot is Mill Creek. One must, indeed, 

 have urgent business who can hurry over its brief course. 



My purpose was to pass the day in quiet, or at most 

 to watch the fishes that swarm the shallower portions of 

 the stream. 



While I have always urged the desirability of being 

 forearmed with a plan, when bent upon a day's outing, 

 I do not claim it can always be carried out. Some 

 stranger may, at the same time, come up to spy out 

 the land, and you have then nothing to do but to spy 

 him out. Count it good-fortune when so it happens. 



Years ago I met with pleasant surprises when here ; 

 still, I could not, from this fact, expect them to continue. 

 To-day, at least, I hoped that the suggestive quiet of 

 these shades would not be disturbed, and had not pro- 

 ceeded a dozen rods beyond the bar that nearly closes 

 the reedy entrance to the creek, when down from above 

 the tree-tops dropped a dainty sand-piper. 



Quietly as possible I sought the drooping branches 



