molested the youngsters, unless they did something atrocious; here they might swim and paddle up and down the river as much as they pleased; for, in general, the banks were high, and bushes, rank grass and reeds and other screens intervened, shutting them off from outsiders.

The river was wide and deep at the falls, but above them it grew narrow and shallow little by little. Five miles up it was a mere brook. Throughout this long stretch the water was so clear that the most fastidious did not hesitate even to drink it; and there were secluded places that as swimming-places could not be equalled. At the falls the water was so deep as easily to float over any log or brush-wood that might come into the river from its banks, its source, or other streams.

One particular spot—a clump of evergreens, where forget-me-nots sprang up in all their beauty, and where Nature was seen at her best—was held sacred to lovers.[37] But there were many parts of the river to which the boys stoutly maintained their claim and of which no one was so hard-hearted as to dispossess them. And oh! crowning joy! there was an island in the river!

[37]

At this the reader may think that we are trifling with his feelings; imposing on his credulity;—he may even refuse to believe in the existence of so extraordinary a river. Never mind. But if the reader wishes to enjoy these pages he will refuse to listen to the dictates of reason, and look on this story as an orthodox romance.

In winter there was another attraction, that of skating, the danger of which was a continual source of uneasiness to parents whose youth, agility, and frolicsomeness had long before given place to gray hairs, clumsiness, and sober-mindedness.

As the proprietors of the land along the river were generous-hearted men, the river was free to all people, and was an actual paradise for boys and picnickers.

Although further remarks might be made about this river, it is not necessary to make them here. It is sufficient to add that as the reader proceeds, he will observe how admirably this river is adapted to the exigencies of the story.

This was the state of affairs in Will’s boyhood. But, alas! all has changed since that time. A foreign aristocrat has bought up all the land along the river, which he has fenced in, stocked with fish and beautified—perhaps, disfigured—with sundry little wharfs, capes, bays, stretches of “pebbly beach,” and 

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