A BED OF BOUGHS 151 



The dam of the latter was filled with such, clear 

 water that it seemed very shallow, and not ten or 

 twelve feet deep, as it really was. The fish were as 

 conspicuous as if they had been in a pail. 



Two miles farther up we suited ourselves and 

 went into camp. 



If there ever was a stream cradled in the rocks, 

 detained lovingly by them, held and fondled in a 

 rocky lap or tossed in rocky arms, that stream is the 

 Eondout. Its course for several miles from its head 

 is over the stratified rock, and into this it has worn 

 a channel that presents most striking and peculiar 

 features. Now it comes silently along on the top 

 of the rock, spread out and flowing over that thick, 

 dark green moss that is found only in the coldest 

 streams; then drawn into a narrow canal only four 

 or five feet wide, through which it shoots, black and 

 rigid, to be presently caught in a deep basin with 

 shelving, overhanging rocks, beneath which the 

 phoebe-bird builds in security, and upon which the 

 fisherman stands and casts his twenty or thirty feet 

 of line without fear of being thwarted by the brush; 

 then into a black, well-like pool, ten or fifteen feet 

 deep, with a smooth, circular wall of rook on one 

 side worn by the water through long ages; or else 

 into a deep, oblong pocket, into which and out of 

 which the water glides without a ripple. 



The surface rock is a coarse sandstone superincum- 

 bent upon a lighter-colored conglomerate that looked 

 like Shawangunk grits, and when this latter is 

 reached by the water it seems to be rapidly disinte- 



