Poisoned Waters 



Business that ordinarily would have required two 

 days was crowded into one. My most intimate boy- 

 hood friends had moved away, and so I finally de- 

 termined upon going alone. Early morning found me 

 on my way. The horse I drove made record time 

 over the ten miles to the old camp ground. It did not 

 take long to unhitch and tie him in the barn. 



The breath of Spring was in the air; the birds 

 were singing and that unforgettable woodsy fra- 

 grance from flowers and half -grown leaves and ferns 

 brought back equally unforgettable recollections of 

 days of happiness and pleasure. I rigged my tackle as 

 I hurried down the old wood road. A light wind was 

 blowing and the sky was slightly overcast. Condi- 

 tions were right, and I was about to turn anticipa- 

 tion into realization. I turned from the road, and 

 passing for a short distance through the brush came 

 out of the woods upon a high bank overlooking a 

 deep swirling pool. 



At a glance I realized that all the old beauties of 

 the spot remained as of years before, but looking 

 down I saw that the water was black and flecked here 

 and there with discolored foam. Some one had built 

 a chemical plant at the forks a few miles above and 

 was running the waste into the stream. 



My disappointment paled into insignificance as the 

 realization came to me that one more fine old stream 

 had been ruined and that other boys were denied the 



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