Now children paddled with bare feet in the river's sandy coves
and shallows, and lovers sat on its alder-shaded banks and
exchanged their vows just where the shuffling bear was wont to
come down and drink.
The Saco could remember the "cold year," when there was a black
frost every month of the twelve, and though almost all the corn
along its shores shrivelled on the stalk, there were two farms
where the vapor from the river saved the crops, and all the seed
for the next season came from the favored spot, to be known as
"Egypt" from that day henceforward.
Strange, complex things now began to happen, and the river played
its own part in some of these, for there were disastrous
freshets, the sudden breaking-up of great jams of logs, and the
drowning of men who were engulfed in the dark whirlpool below the
rapids.
Caravans, with menageries of wild beasts, crossed the bridge now
every year. An infuriated elephant lifted the side of the old
Edgewood Tavern barn, and the wild laughter of the roistering
rum-drinkers who were tantalizing the animals floated down to the
river's edge. The roar of a lion, tearing and chewing the arm of
one of the bystanders, and the cheers of the throng when a plucky
captain of the local militia thrust a stake down the beast's
throat,--these sounds displaced the former war-whoop of the
Indians and the ring of the axe in the virgin forests along the
shores.
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