82 Native Brooks. 



hair gray to discover just where Old Place brook rises, to 

 decide to the world's satisfaction from under which par- 

 ticular skunk cabbage leaf courses the first little rill. The 

 marsh -marigolds, that grow so plentifully nearby, do not 

 know where it rises, and the snails that float on their 

 backs, each with its broad fleshy foot turned up to the sun, 

 do not care. They start from some water-parsnips stem 

 or dead twig, on their journey, but all trials to place them 

 gently in the water with the hand, and have them float 

 away, result in failures, for they also can appreciate the 

 appearance of danger. 



To the east of the Bohman mansion, near Bohman's 

 Point, there is a little brook, that flows through a sandy 

 semi pasture and woodland region. It is bordered 

 in part by willows and old orchard trees, and the land has 

 that unmistakable air of an ancient farming spot. On the 

 high sand dune, nearby, about which this brook bends in 

 bow fashion, the Indians lived in old time, and their 

 implements and little heaps of flint chips, where the arrows 

 were made, may still be discovered. The spring, where 

 they got water, is on the hill-side, though now filled up 

 with sand and grass grown, but the stones that formed its 

 sides mark the site, and a tiny rill issues from among them 

 in very wet weather. 



They had an eye for beauty, as evinced by the patterns 

 on the broken pieces of pottery lying about, and no doubt 

 they thought the warblers very gay, that congregate in 

 spring-time about a moist place near the brook. The 

 warblers come every year, just the same, but the Indians 

 are gone, and probably in the large factory across the Kill 



