“I found out how to get there from our landlord when I went over for water,” said Harry. “There’s a side road that leads down to a little grist-mill just above here, and at the mill there’s a foot-bridge across the stream.” “Good!” said John; and after breakfast our campers went down to the mill, which, with the placid pond above, was completely closed in by the green masses of the forest. It was a gray little building, with mossy shingles, and broken windows and doors. There were boards missing here and there from its sides, and it was so old and rude it seemed a wonder it did not slide down the precipice it half overhung. It had not been used for some time--that was plain. Below it was a steep, irregular fall of rocks over which thin streams of water were tumbling. Across the ravine, at the summit of the cliff, was a low dam; but it leaked badly, and the water did not reach its top by some inches. Midway in the stream, at the dam, was a rocky island where grew a few stunted pines. A foot-bridge crossed to it from a lower door of the mill. Thus it was necessary to climb to the top of the island cliff, where another bridge swung high up over the narrow ravine to the farther shore. The boys poked about the mill and the pond for some time and then crossed the bridges. But they were no sooner across than John exclaimed, “How that thing did sway and crack! I’d walk ten miles before I’d cross that rotten plank again.” “So would I,” said Harry. “It fairly made my hair stand on end. A fellow wouldn’t be good for much after he’d tumbled down into a ravine as deep and rocky as that, I guess. The waterfall must be close by here. I can hear it. But let’s hunt up Jules first. His last name is La Fay, so Whitcomb said.” A faintly marked path led away through the woods, and the two followed it. Some distance beyond it opened into a highway. They saw no signs of habitations, but they followed the road until they met an ox-cart. “Can you tell us where Mr. La Fay lives?” asked John of the young man who was guiding the slow team. “Yes,” said he, “you take a narrer little road that turns off into the woods down here a piece. You don’t live round in these parts, do ye?” [Illustration: NOVEMBER] “No,” replied John. “I don’t belong around here either, and I’m mighty glad of it.” “Why, what’s the matter?” John asked. “It’s so darn lonesome. That’s what’s the matter. Nothin’ but woods, with now and then a farm kinder lost in it. Nothin’ goin’ on. Everything draggin’ along slow as this old ox-team. I’ve hired out to Deacon Hawes for the season, but I shan’t stay more’n my time out. You’re campin’ up round here, ain’t ye? Allen’s boy brought ye up last night, so I heard. Mebbe I’ll drop in and see ye this evenin’. We’ve got some sweet-corn just ripenin’ down at the place that might taste good to ye.” [Illustration: THE VILLAGE ON THE HILL]