he winter passed and the spring came in. Its days of thaw made the
old stream groan and crack, as the great ice fields split here and
there, and seams opened. There were nights when the water, that had
overflowed at the edge of the ice fields, close by the shore, and
formed a narrow stream on either side, froze fast again; so that there
was a glare thoroughfare for miles and miles up the stream into the
country, of ice just thick enough to bear the boys of Benton.

They made excursions far up along shore this way, skating at furious
speed; pausing now and then to set fire to the bunches of tall dried
grasses and reeds, that protruded through the ice in the midst of the
stream. These flamed fiercely at the mere touch of a match.

Then, as it grew later, this overflow at the edges of the ice field
froze no more; but lay, several feet deep of clear water, over that part
of the ice. They could get on to the stream then only at certain points,
where the ledges made out, or by throwing planks across. Soon the water
began to pour with a louder and louder roar over the old Ellison dam,
and a stretch of clear, swift-flowing water opened up for some distance
back of it.

It became rare and dangerous sport, in these days, to get out on the ice
field and work at a seam with planks and poles, prying loose a great
sheet of the still thick ice, and watch it go over the dam. It had a
most spectacular and awe-inspiring way of making the plunge. A great
block of the ice, several yards square, would drift swiftly down, shoot
far over the edge, then break apart of its own weight, the huge chunks
falling with a mighty splash and commotion into the boiling pool below.
Down they would go, like monsters of the sea, borne by the momentum of
their plunge from the height. Then they would shoot upward, lift
themselves out with a dull roar amid the seething mass of water and
smaller ice, rise above the surface, fall again, and, caught in the
embrace of the swift current, go tossing and crunching down toward
Benton.

Little Tim's sheer delight in this sport exceeded that of all others. He
displayed a recklessness that brought upon him the assertion by Jack
Harvey that he was "a double-dyed little idiot;" and Henry Burns gave
him solemn warning that some day he would go over the dam, if he didn't
stop taking chances. But they couldn't check Tim's ardour. He was the
hardest worker, with ice-chisel or pole, and the last to leave a sheet
of ice that