A SUMMER AT HOME. 215 



the corner, out into the meadow, a couple of hundred 

 yards, leanin' a little towards the house, and another 

 from the squatty sassyfiax tow'rds the canal, and where 

 they cross, if you'll look sharp, you'll find the grass sort 

 of brown and rusty-lookin', and there's the spring." 



I followed Miles's directions, which were sufiiciently 

 clear, and there, sure enough, was the spring — now, in- 

 deed, all a treacherous semi-quicksand, but the traces of 

 the mineral water were unmistakable. I dug a little 

 hole, and waited for the water to settle ; then, dipping 

 np a cupful, drank it. Phew! Had the birds' eggs 

 laid in nests about this meadow since the glacial period 

 rotted and remained in this spot, then the flavor of the 

 water could not have been more suggestive of sulphu- 

 retted hydrogen. Nevertheless, being told that it was 

 wholesome, I drank another cupful of it. " A gallon 

 of it won't hurt you," Miles had remarked ; but I re- 

 membered that I was very well, and took no more in 

 anticipation of future illness. 



This spring puzzles me. The water is a degree 

 warmer' than that of a much larger one of sweet water, 

 two hundred yards distant. There, a great volume of 

 water wells up, clear as crystal and cool as any of the 

 foot-hill springs. Around on every side is a level reach 

 of marshy meadow. Were these two springs a mile 

 apart, or among rocks, I would think nothing of it, for 

 gome four miles distant is a sulphur spring; but here, 

 on these meadows, built up of mud and gravel hun- 

 dreds of feet in depth, it is natural to look for a uni- 

 form character of the water. If the source of the sul- 

 phur is the distant range of hills, then why should not 



