On your right, gleaming through clumps of alder and black birch, is a pond,--the home of cardinal flowers and gleaming jewel-weed; a little farther on, a thicket of birch and maple, from which comes a musical sound of falling water.

Follow this sound, keeping to the path, which winds away to the left.

Stop! now you may step aside for a moment, and part the heavy hanging branches, and look, where the water falls over a high black wall, into a sombre pool, shut in by fantastic rocks, and shaded from all sunshine by a dense fringe of trees.

This is the milldam, and the pond above is no natural one, but the enforced repose and outspreading of a merry brown brook, which now shows its true nature, and escaping from the gloomy pool, runs scolding and foaming down through a wilderness of rocks and trees.

You cannot follow it there,--though I have often done so in my barefoot days,--so come back to the path again.
There are pines overhead now, and the ground is slippery with the fallen needles, and the air is sweet--ah! how sweet!--with their warm fragrance.