Reynolds] A BOY AND A BROOK 19 



this time we could see where the big slate rocks had come to the 

 surface and were washed clean by the running water. The brook 

 was still wider here. Its banks were made of worn off layers of 

 slate. I couldn't understand this so Sis explained. How damp 

 weather and then freezing of the water in the cracks make things 

 swell up and these things crack up into pieces. Slate cracks off in 

 flat sheets and every time a sheet of rock was taken off a little falls 

 was made and there were a lot of falls along here. On the rocky 

 banks there was just enough moist earth to grow a lot of ferns, 

 violets and moss. It must have taken Mr. Brook a long time to 

 wear away the rock because we saw a great many old trees, especi- 

 ally one great white oak almost tipping off the bank. That made 

 it just shady enough for the ferns and violets. This was a first 

 rate hiding place for the birds and we saw two warblers, a Black- 

 poll with a black cap and Mr. Maryland Yellowthroat with his 

 black cheeks. 



The water current must be strong here especially in the spring 

 because there were sticks, mud and fine stones piled up at every 

 turn of the brook. We had to skip stones in order to get along 

 between the steep banks. It was fun and Sis didn't tumble in 

 even once like girls usually do. We didn't have any more time, 

 though, to see what happened to the brook because we were so 

 slow and looked at so many things. We were up to where Mr. 

 Brook takes a jump down through another pipe under Highland 

 Avenue. I'm wondering how deep the brook has burrowed on the 

 other side of the street. 



June 7, 1919. 

 Dear Mother: 



Its summer sure enough now because freckles and mosquitoes 

 are coming out thick and fast. Dad called me ''spotted adder" 

 when he saw me last week but I don't care; girls only care. We 

 finished up the brook yersterday and the mosquitoes finished us. 

 I went bare-foot so's I could wade and wish I hadn't. Sis took me 

 'way out in front of Prof. Mason's house this time and we started 

 there. You wouldn't know it was our brook at all for its most 

 sixty-five feet arcoss and about forty feet deep. We paced it to 

 get the width. The tile under the road was so large that Sis 

 thought there might be a Phoebe-bird's nest in it so I crawled in 

 but didn't find anything but water and mosquitoes. Phoebes 

 build funny nests plastered up against stone walls under bridges 

 and such places. 



