floating islands. In conspicuous places notices may be seen, beginning with “No Trespassing” and winding up with the amount of the fine imposed on all persons “caught lurking within the limits.” Consequently, the urchins of to-day, despoiled of this haunt, have to content themselves with damaging the notices and slinging stones at the swans that sail gracefully up and down the river.

There were also smaller streams in the neighborhood, one being in Mr. Lawrence’s farm.

To the left of the village stood an extensive grove, swarming with squirrels, birds, insects, and, of course,[38] mosquitoes. In this grove the heroes of this story whiled away many a happy hour; and when not on the river they might generally be found here.

[38]

The lake also was a favorite resort, and on its broad surface they sailed or rowed hither and thither; always getting wet, often narrowly escaping death. Sometimes their joyous hearts were elated with a ride on a tug; but when hard pressed they made almost anything serve them for a boat. As naturally as a duck takes to water, Will and his associates took to making little ships, which excited the admiration of all beholders—sometimes on account of their beauty, but generally on account of their liability to float stern foremost, with the masts at an angle of twenty degrees.

Then there was the school-house,—a fanciful, yet imposing edifice, the grained and polished jambs of whose mullioned windows had suffered from the ravages rather of jack-knives than of time,—built in a retired quarter of the village, and to the boys’ entire satisfaction, quite close to the river.

If Will wished to go to the wharf he could walk thither in less than half-an-hour; to the depot in ten minutes; to the school,—well, in from twenty to forty minutes. To Mrs. Lawrence’s delight, it was nearly two miles from their house to the falls. She had not the heart to forbid Will’s going thither, but she fondly hoped that the distance would not permit him to go very often; for, according to her view of the matter, water and danger are synonymous.

But what are two miles to a boy, when a waterfall, a limpid and gleaming river, boats, crazy rafts, plenty of fish, and other boys, are the attractions? In fact, the time was never known, not even to that venerable personage, “the oldest inhabitant,” in which a boy might not be seen about those falls.

It is not strange that the youth of this 

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