ween the old Beaver Bed and the new. Far to the Southeast I knew there was a bridge crossing the former. I had not gone far when a roaring as of a waterfall, came to my ears on the breeze from the direction of the creek. It proved irresistable finally and I turned back The waterfall proved to be in a tiny stream on the other side of the main creek, but I concluded to follow the stream’s bank. Six or seven years ago, the creek along here had been dredged spoiling its natural beauty. The excess mud in the bottom of the creek had been deposited along the banks, forming unsightly mounds of clayey earth. Nature however had bravely set to work to heal the scar. The stream bed could not be reclaimed - it had an unnatural straightness and uniformity of width that was depressing, but the clay mound had been partly or wholly ob­scured by that all healing life - vegetation. The most common  plant was the great ragweed, whose white bleached stalks and stub­bles were not unpleasant to behold. In tiny hollows in the mounds plants of mustard held way. Their leaves as green as in summer. In some places rank growths of chickweed contended for the mastery, but were generally crowded up on the sides