Over all the sun sent his warm rays on the melting earth from a blue sky.
     The way was long and rough, but we now had gone down a little hill over which the road led. On the left was the stream known as the “Meander”, winding in a out through olive green meadows, finally disappearing far down the road where there was a little building called “Nigger Mill” and a bridge. Willows lined the banks of the creek and were covered with brown bloom; on the other side was a vague grey forest.  No one among us knew where Tom lived, so Bill went to a neighboring farm house and inquired.  The lady of the house pointed to a large white building far out to the west, said that all of the Richards were down at the sugar camp, which was in the woods to the west. Thanking her we climbed a fence along the road, raced down into a small hollow, mounted the remains of an old dam, and finally came to the creek.
     We had some trouble crossing the stream, but after following it a short ways, we came to a place narrow enough for us to leap across.  Once on the other side, we entered the forest, which was still enshrouded in frost and gloom, for