The pond by the mill was to the boys "swimming hole" and fishing pool, where, during the long summer evenings and through the sunny summer days, they spent amphibious hours in high and serene content.

But in springtime when the pond was black with floating logs it became the scene of thrilling deeds of daring.

For thither came the lumber-jacks, fresh from "the shanties," in their dashing, multi-colored garb, to "show off" before admiring friends and sweethearts their skill in "log-running" and "log-rolling" contests which as the spirit of venture grew would end like as not in the icy waters of the pond.
Here, too, on brilliant winter days the life of the village found its centre of vivid interest and activity.

For then the pond would be a black and glittering surface whereon wheeled and curved the ringing, gleaming blades of "fancy" skaters or whereon in sterner hours opposing "shinny" teams sought glory in Homeric and often gory contest.
But those days and those scenes were now long since gone.

The old mill stood a picturesque ruin, the water wheel had given place to the steam engine, the pond had shrunk to an insignificant pool where only pollywogs and minnows passed unadventurous lives, the mill race had dwindled to a trickling stream grown thick with watercress and yellow lilies, and what had once been the centre of vigorous and romantic life was now a back water eddy devoid alike of movement and of colour.
A single bit of life remained--the little log cottage, once the Manager's house a quarter of a century ago, still stood away up among the pines behind the old mill ruin and remote from the streets and homes of the present town.