BIRCH BROWSINGS. 179 



After continuing our descent till our only guide, the 

 spring run, became quite a trout brook, and its tiny 

 murmur a loud brawl, we began to peer anxiously 

 through the trees for a glimpse of the lake, or for some 

 conformation of the land that would indicate its prox- 

 imity. An object which we vaguely discerned in look- 

 ing under the near trees and over the more distant 

 ones, proved, on further inspection, to be a patch of 

 ploughed ground. Presently we made out a burnt 

 fallow near it. This was a wet blanket to our enthu- 

 siasm. No lake, no sport, no trout for supper that 

 night. The rather indolent young man had either 

 played us a trick, or, as seemed more likely, had 

 missed the way. We were particularly anxious to be 

 at the lake betweeen sundown and dark, as at that 

 time the trout jump most freely. 



Pushing on, we soon emerged into a stumpy field, 

 at the head of a steep valley, which swept around 

 toward the west. About two hundred rods below 

 us was a rude log-house, with smoke issuing from 

 the chimney. A boy came out and moved toward the 

 spring with a pail in his hand. We shouted to him, 

 when he turned and ran back into the house without 

 pausing to reply. In a moment the whole family 

 hastily rushed into the yard, and turned their faces 

 toward us. If we had come down their chimney, they 

 could not have seemed more astonished. Not making 

 out what they said, I went down to the house, and 

 learned to my chagrin that we were still on the Mill 



