u-qweer-reh Oh-cane-my-nose!"

"Do hold your tongue, Jobson!" said Claypole, "you are enough to drive
one crazy!"

"Mr. Jobson is not much inclined to poetry, I believe," lisped May
Blossom, with a smile dimpling her beautiful mouth.

"Poetry is well enough in its place," grumbled Jobson; "in speaking
exercises, and so on; but what's poetry to do with naming falls of
water, I should like to know?"

"Let us call them Meadow Brook Falls," said beautiful Annie Mapes.

"There's no meadow in sight, and your brook is a torrent," said
Mayfield.

"Well, what _shall_ we call them?" burst out once more the full chorus.

"I think the best way is to go and see them first;" again grumbled
Jobson, not much relishing the idea of all the company turning against
him.

This was really the most practical remark yet made, as none of the
assemblage had seen them but Mayfield, who absolutely declined
suggesting any name, and accordingly Jobson's idea was instantly
adopted.

The next day was settled upon for the jaunt, and consequently the
company assembled at an early hour to start.

It was as bewitching an autumn day as ever beamed on the earth, such an
one as Doughty loves to fasten upon his glorious canvas. It would have
glittered with golden splendor, had it not been toned down by a delicate
haze, which could scarcely be seen near by, but which gradually
thickened on the distant landscape until it brushed away the outlines of
the mountain summits, so that they seemed steeped in a delicious swoon.

We left the village, trotted up hill and down, and skimmed over flats,
until we arrived at the long descent of a mile, beginning at the log-hut
of old Saunsalis, and ending in Mamakating Hollow at the outskirts of
Wurtsboro'. Here we turned short at the left, and pursued our way over a
narrow country road through the enchanting scenery of the Hollow toward
our destination. After passing farm-houses peering from clumps of trees,
meadows, grainfields, and woodlands, we came to a by-road leading
through a field. Here the little brook (Fawn of the "Bounding Deer")
sparkled by our track, crossing in its capricious way the road, thereby
forcing us to ford it, and then recross its ripples. We now came to the
end of our road; and alighting, we tied our steeds to the willows and
alders scattered along the streamlet's bank. Each one (laden with the
pic-nic baskets) then hastened onward, for the low deep bleat of the
"Deer" was sounding in o