32 AROUND AN OLD HOMESTEAD. 



a spray of moss falls with a bell-like tinkle, and con- 

 centric rings spread from its center, causing the surface 

 of the water to shiver and dance in diminutive wavelets 

 rippling lightly from one side to another. Here, at 

 least, whether in harvest-time or when snow is drift- 

 ing, one can always have a cup of the water of life 

 (shall we say?), clear as crystal, icy-cold, and as sweet 

 as the sap which falls from the maples. One end of 

 the windlass, which is nearly as old as the well, is as 

 smooth as glass, worn through long years, and showing 

 the grain of the wood as if oiled, where we have held 

 our hands, as a sort of brake, in letting the bucket 

 descend rapidly, instead of slowly turning the handle, 

 thus causing it to plunge at last with a ketchiink! below 

 the surface, to rise again in a shower of spray. Many 

 a stranger, staying for a time to rest in the shade, has 

 been grateful for the refreshing draught it gives. It 

 has become quite famous for its 

 water, having been there during the 

 cabin days, and travelers always 

 have stopped beside it. 



Sparrows sit on the edges of the 

 long carrying trough (made out of 

 a tree) that leads from the well, 

 and dip their bills in the water as it 

 courses past them, while in the big 

 receiving watering trough at the 

 other end the horses, cows, calves, 

 and chickens, and all the animals 

 on the farm except the hogs slake 

 their thirst, and plunge their noses 

 deep into the crystal pool, or 



"the old oaken bucket." 



