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The Iowa Homemaker

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One bright summer morning, after a refreshing. shower, I got one of the boys to saddle my horse, Lady, and I started off down the valley; by the Old Mill, which stands where Roarin' Forks dashes over big rocks and rushes on its way into the Little Pigeon river. I stopped Lady on the bridge and looked up the stream; the sun was just coming out and made the drops of rain still clinging to every leaf and twig look like miniature rainbows. The passion flowers were just beginning to bloom and bright green shoots of fern were growing on the water's edge, bending over the stream and nearly touching the water.

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