CHAPTEE XIX. 



A SECLUDED COENEE. 



ONCE, in the far distant past perhaps so long ago 

 that a vestige of the ancient glacier of the river valley 

 still lingered on the distant mountains a broad and shal- 

 low creek meandered through the meadows that skirt the 

 river, and, after a mile or more of independent flow, was 

 lost in the greater volume of that stream. This little 

 creek, fed by springs that issued from the bluff that runs 

 parallel to the river's course, pursued its winding way 

 through a dense growth of hickory, oak, birch, and maple. 

 Along its banks the Indian roamed, and in its quiet 

 waters he found an abundance of fishes. There was a 

 time, too, when the spot was beautiful, and there still 

 remains a vestige of its former beauty ; but only by 

 careful searching can it be recognized. The springs 

 that gave this creek its volume of waters have sought 

 other channels ; the coming of the white man proved the 

 destruction of the forest ; and now there is left only the 

 half-dry channel, choked with rank grasses, bulrushes and 

 reeds. This to the farmer is an eye-sore, as it yields him 

 no profit ; but to me it is indeed a pleasant place, for I 

 find a charm in the wild growths, teeming as they are 

 with feathered occupants. In place of the forest, there 

 are now broad stretches of dry pasture, with here and 

 there a single oak or hickory left to tell the story. For- 

 tunately in one corner of this low-lying tract, called the 



