around a turn, where the stream was running straight over a solid bed of rock, I came upon the “Old Maid’s Kitchen.” It seems that this is the usual name to give to any large hollow formation of rocks. This one was a wild disorderly looking scene.  It was a deep place worn out of solid rock; stretching across it in many places were old fallen trees, and everywhere was a confusion of sharp rocks, and old leaves.  At the side where I was standing the water poured over a steep incline of rock, that was green with moss, down into a deep little pool. Down the perpendicular walls of the “Kitchen” on the opposite, hung long white icicles and masses of ice, - water that had been frozen as it trickled out of the crevices in the rock.  On the edge of the hill above was a solitary dark-green pine-tree, like a sentinel.  As I listened to the musical sound of the water, recollections of the many trips I had made thru the hollow, alone and with company, thru the long spring, summer and autumn months ever since I was a very little “kid”.
     I soon went on crawling over log. and boulders until I came to “Devil’s Den”, at another turn of the hollow, but a short distance from the “Old Maids’ Kitchen”. It was a great mass of dark rock jutting out several yards from the