Up the Creek 



III 



This always should, and probably never 

 will, be remembered. 



But what of the creek, the one-time Big- 

 Bird Creek of the Delaware Indians ? With 

 ill-timed strokes we pulled our languid oars, 

 and passed many a tree, jutting meadow, or 

 abandoned wharf worthy of more than a 

 moment's contemplation. But, lured by the 

 treasure still beyond our reach, we went on 

 and on, until the trickling waters of a hill- 

 side spring proved too much for us, and, turn- 

 ing our prow landward, we stopped to rest. 



Among old trees that afforded grateful 

 shade, a spring that bubbled from an aged 

 chestnut's wrinkled roots, a bit of babbling 

 brook that too soon reached the creek and 

 was lost, and, beyond all, wide-spreading 

 meadows, boundless from our point of view 

 — what more need one ask ? To our credit, 

 be it said, we were satisfied, except, perhaps, 

 that here, as all along our course, polliwogs 

 were perverse. Birds, however, consider- 

 ately came and went, and even the shy cuckoo 

 deigned to reply when we imitated his dolo- 

 rous clucking. A cardinal grosbeak, too, 

 drew near and whistled a welcome, and once 

 eyed us with much interest as we sat lunching 



