le of tones--tingle ling, tingle ling ting
tingle--as their owners collected together to eat their way to their
respective milking places--and all told us that the day was drawing to
a close. Independently of this, a dark crag of cloud was lifting
itself in the southwest, with a pale glance of lightning shooting out
of it occasionally, hinting very strongly of an approaching
thunder-storm.

In about half an hour we were all re-assembled at Pritchard's. I
believe I have not described the scenery around this little log
tavern. There was a ravine at some little distance from it, densely
clothed with forest. Through it a stream found its way. Directly
opposite the side porch, the ravine spread widely on each side,
shaping a broad basin of water, and then, contracting again, left a
narrow throat across which a dam had been thrown. Over this dam the
stream poured in a fall of glittering silver, of about ten feet, and
then, pursuing its way through the "Barrens," fell into the Sheldrake
Brook several miles below. Here, at the fall, Pritchard had erected a
saw-mill.

Now people don't generally think there is any thing very picturesque
about saw-mills, but I do. The weather-beaten boards of the low
structure, some hanging awry, some with great knot-holes, as if they
were gifted with orbs of vision, or were placed there for the mill to
breathe through, some fractured, as if the saw had at times become
outrageous at being always shut up and made to work there for other
people, and had dashed against them, determined to gain its
liberty--whilst some seem as if they had become so tantalized by the
continual jar of the machinery, that they had loosened their nails,
and had set up a clatter and shake themselves in opposition--these are
quite picturesque. Then the broad opening in front, exposing the
glittering saw bobbing up and down, and pushing its sharp teeth right
through the bowels of the great peeled log fastened with iron claws to
the sliding platform beneath--the gallows-like frame in which the saw
works--the great strap belonging to the machinery issuing out of one
corner and gliding into another--the sawyer himself, in a red shirt,
now wheeling the log into its place with his handspike and fastening
it--and now lifting the gate by the handle protruding near him--the
axe leaning at one side and the rifle at the other--the loose floor
covered with saw-dust--the stained rafters above with boards laid
across for a loft--the d