608
REDLONS OF HOLLIS, MAINE.
day, and suggested that they make preparations to erect a mill the next
spring; this proposition received the favorable consideration of all, and
like the servants of Nehemiah anciently, they said, "We will arise and
build." A rude schedule for the frame was drawn out, and before the
snow was gone, the timber was cut, hewed, mortised, and ready to raise.
Thomas yoked the oxen, and with his eldest son started across Sebago
Lake to get the millstones which had been previously ordered of a stone-
cutter on the other side. It was now near spring, and the ice not strong.
When on their return they had reached the lake, and it was smooth sled-
ding, the father commanded Thomas, Jr., to remove the chain from the
stones with which they had been secured to the sleds; this excited the
curiosity of the son, but subsequently proved the prudence of the father,
for as they were coming near the southern shore the ice gave way, and the
millstones sank to the bottom, while by driving hard the sprightly team
was saved; had the chain which was let through the eye of the stones re-
mained, all would have gone to the bottom together. Another pair of
millstones had to be ordered, as the water was too deep to recover the
first set. The grist-mill was completed and ready for grinding the corn
harvested the following autumn. From this time nearly all the inhabi-
tants of South Limington and North Buxton had their grain ground at
"Ridlon's Mill"; the former bringing theirs on horse-back, and the latter
taking theirs across the Saco River in boats. It must have been a pleas-
there, the foundations of which I saw many times in my boyhood days. The
Bryant house was on the ridge southeast from "Ridlon's Brook," and now in
the field of Timothy Tarbox, and once a part of the well-known "Thornton Lot,"
owned by Gill Thornton, of Saco. The Kimball house was situated on the
high but level land far beyond "Ridlon's Brook" on the northwest, and in the well-
known "old Kimball Field," since called the "Trip Field," because owned by Bill
Trip, the blacksmith, of Bonnie Eagle. There was another dwelling-house in that
neighborhood, called the "Temple Place." It was on the old road that once led
from the house of Thomas Ridlon, the younger, in the "Ridlon neighborhood,"
through the woods to the County-road near the Cyrus Bean place. This house was
at the foot of the hill about half a mile from Thomas Ridlon's, and only a few feet
from a well-known spring of cool water, now in John Ridlon's pasture. When a
boy I have spent many pleasant hours building ovens with the old bricks once in
the chimney of the Temple house, and the old foundation may still be seen. Wil-
liam Ridlon, son of Thomas, Sr., once cleared land on the "Dalton Right," where
Dr. Edward Peabody has since owned, and built a barn. I think William had a house
there, but am not positive. Mr. Cozens built a barn in a small field on the back
end of his lot, not far from the house of Caleb Kimball. This lot became the farm
of Nicholas Ridlon, son of James, Sr. Thomas Lewis sold his lot to Joseph Rid-
lon, another son, who built the nice farm-buildings now known as the "Uncle Joe
Ridlon Place," near the village of Bonnie Eagle. The "Dalton Right" has been
divided and subdivided many times, but much of the territory is still owned by the
Ridlons and their descendants; it was a valuable tract of land, and produced every
kind of grain and vegetables in abundance. From early childhood I have known
every acre of this land first settled by my ancestors; with my venerable grandfather
I followed the mossy paths and winding wood-roads that led through the noble pine
forests around the Ridlon farms; and went with my father, when, with gun in
hand, at the close of the day, he hunted for partridges and pigeons. I have crept
around the greenwood borders of the old, neglected clearings and bush-grown fields,
where the early Ridlons followed the plough and gathered their harvests; and in
maturer years I have fished and trapped along the "Ridlon Brook," until every
nook and corner is familiar to me. I can still find the cool springs that bubble
from the grassy margins of the woodlands, to which my ancestors went from their
fields to slake their thirst, and point to places where my grandfather killed 'coons
and wildcats long before my memory. Those old pioneers located well, and have
left their descendants a rich patrimony.
