I trudged into the kitchen slowly losing my grip on the box. I quickened my pace making it to the table and placing it down just in time. This place is going to take forever to fix. The electrician still hadn’t come in to fix the outdated wiring. I wiped the bead of sweat from my forehead as Eric walked in with a couple more boxes.

“Where do you want these?” He asked through a strained voice. I pointed over by the table. Mindlessly I walked to the sink and started pushing the old fashioned handle on the sink.

“Crap I forgot Will hasn’t stopped by yet.” I said as Eric tossed me a bottled water. I smiled opening it, letting the cold refreshing water hit my dry throat. This old farmhouse had a few dust bunnies that were definitely getting to me.

“Livy, what’s in this box? It looks like old paperwork?” Eric started riffling through the box and pulling out a few pages starting to read. Curious I moved over and reached into the box. It was an old birth certificate. The name and dates were slightly faded with time but you could faintly make out a first name, Vera. I reached in again and pulled out an old envelope. Jonathan Fitzpatrick was the name on the return address.

“Isn’t your grandfather’s name Jonathan Fitzpatrick?” I  asked handing the envelope over to Eric. He put the paperwork in his hand down and grabbed the awaiting envelope. He  opened the  letter quickly scanning the handwritten message.

“Yeah that is his name but I mean there has to be like a thousand Jonathan Fitzpatrick right? Almost as common as John Smith. Just a coincidence.” He turned putting the letter back as he made his way out the door for more boxes.

Around 7 o’clock we called it a night, falling into the couch we struggled for an hour with just to squeeze it through the extremely small doors. Eric handed me a beer as he cracked into his own placing his arm round my shoulders.

“Cheers to you Olivia, you’re nowhere near done and I ship out tomorrow!” He chuckled as he raised his glass to meet mine. I shrugged his arm off as a yeah-yeah-I-know sentiment.

The heat from the idling cars made me close my window and turn on the AC. This day had been stressful enough I didn’t need traffic to make it worse. Yet here I am, sitting in rush hour traffic, moving an inch a minute. Annoyed, I flipped through the radio stations, allowing random songs to pop into the car from George Strait to Michael Jackson, all just fading into my ears without making much of a connection. Suddenly, a loud buzzing noise brought my thoughts quickly back to reality as my phone lit up in the cup holder. I clicked my headset on.

“Hello,” I said turning down the radio.

“Hi, Olivia, it’s Amy calling about the new article you submitted.” The voice answered. I mouthed “Amy Houser” to Eric who looked at me curious; he nodded and went back to looking out the window.

Amy is the pickiest person I have ever met, and who, unfortunately, is my editor. I guess being selective would have to come with the job considering she was the chief editor for the paper.

“Hi, Amy yes, the new article is a bit different and out there but I had to, to include everything that you said you needed.” I tried to keep my voice soft and light, like any good writer would do, but this woman had been criticizing every piece of work I had submitted to her since I started working at the Portland Herald.

“Yes I noticed the different angle to this week’s piece from you, but that’s not what I called about. I actually called about the screenplay you’ve been writing” Shocked by what the intent of this phone call actually was I didn’t know what to say. I had been writing this fluff piece of a screen play on and off for about three years. I had finally found an ending that I liked, so I sent it to one of the girls I was close with at the office just to get her take. I hadn’t heard from her about it, so I had assumed she simply didn’t have the time or want to read it.

“Oh yes it was a little fluff thing I worked on to pass the time.” I answered slightly unimpressed.

“Yeah I noticed that, but I was thinking, have you ever thought about maybe writing short stories? Or even a complete novel?” As a child I use to write short stories but never thought about continuing it for any sort of a purpose except for my own amusement. What was she getting at?

“I’m just saying, the paper could use a new angle, something that would keep the readers wanting to buy next week’s paper. Like an “ask” column, but each week would be the next chapter sort of, does that make sense?” Amy actually seemed like she had thought long and hard before she offered this. I could start writing stories again, I did miss it.

“Okay that could work, give me a couple days to work out an outline for you,” I said as idea’s started swirling in my head.

“Okay perfect, thank you! I’ll wait to see your report on Friday! Have a goodnight Olivia.” I thanked her and hit the off button on my headset a little harder than necessary. Finally, the traffic seemed to be flowing with ease and the sight of lit-up tail lights seemed lesser with each passing second.

The air changed as we wandered into the hospital. The smell of Clorox seemed to be the cologne of the place, with a soundtrack that contained different versions of coughs and sneezes. We followed the signs to the main lobby, finally reaching the desk. Eric leaned on the receptionist’s window. The young blonde slid the glass open as Eric spoke, “Hi, Jonathan Fitzpatrick, we were told he went into surgery about a half hour ago?”

“He just got out of surgery; we’re just waiting for the doctor to give the okay to head into the room.” She smiled shuffling through papers, placing them in the appropriate folders. I turned to stare at the mismatch of people in the waiting room. I motioned for Eric to follow as I made my way to an empty seat, but he was too busy flirting with the pretty blue-eyed blonde who was now blushing. I laughed and mindlessly grabbed the magazine next to me.

“Eric Fitzpatrick?” A man said as he stepped through the door into the waiting room. Replacing the magazine to the table, I stood and followed Eric to the doctor’s side.

“He made it through fine; just small fractures and some stitches. The medication he’s taking for his heart is thinning his blood, causing him fall asleep. This is what caused the accident.” The doctor said dryly as he flipped through his paperwork.

“I’ve set up an appointment with his cardiologist to clear up that matter, however, he will be tired so don’t strain him too much. We’re going to keep him overnight just to make certain no other complications occur. Other than those few things I don’t see any other reasons why you can’t go in and say hi.” Eric shook the doctor’s hand thanking him.

We walked slowly through the hall, people passed by us and smiled, but you could tell they wanted out just as much as I did. I hated hospitals ever since I was a kid. Just the idea of how many people suffer in places like this. I know it’s a place where you go to get better, but it still makes me shiver. We knocked on Uncle John’s door; we heard a weak voice answer.

Uncle John was lying there, as pale as the sheets that covered his body. He smiled as Eric and I moved into the room. Despite his poor vision, there was still a light in his eyes.

“Come here Eric and give me a hug my boy.” Eric moved to the side of the bed, leaning in to place a huge hug onto the fragile old man.

“How’ve you two been?” Uncle John chuckled as he pushed himself up to sit in the bed. Eric started to talk about random things while I looked around the room. The look of the place seemed cold and cruel. The only hints of happiness were the streaks of sunlight through the window.

As I got to Uncle John’s bed stand, I noticed a photo laying there withered with age. I assumed it was his wife, Caroline, but as I got a closer look, I noticed that the bouncy blonde curls of this woman were not the beautiful brunette locks I remembered his wife to have.

“Uncle John, who is that?” I questioned as I picked up the photo and handed it him. He held the photo in his hand and smiled, but his eyes held a hidden pain that he had kept in the back of his mind for years.

“Just a wonderful old friend my dear. Beautiful isn’t she.” Uncle John handed me the picture, and I returned it to where I had found it. The gentle breeze from my hand moving caused the photo to float to the floor. The words “Distance and time may pass but I know you’ll find your way back” caught my eye as it landed on the floor. My curiosity kicked in, who was this woman, and if it was a friend why have such a tender message on the back?

“She wasn’t just a friend was she?” I said picking up the photograph handing it to Uncle John again. He chuckled as he took it from my hand.

“Very sharp you are my dear. Yes, Vera was more than a friend, but you don’t want to hear an old man’s withered love story.” He said lost in memory. Eric reached for the photo and stared at it for a few moments.

“I wouldn’t mind hearing some stories Uncle John” Eric winked, handing the graying photo to John.

John’s wrinkled hands felt over the photograph as if to feel her. Lost in thought, he looked out the window and I wasn’t sure if I should disrupt his daydream. Then he started to speak.

“Her father never liked me, thought I was just a shady kid passing through the town, but that wasn’t the real reason, looking back.” Neither Eric nor I knew what to say to this. We both shifted awkwardly in our seats as we waited for the rest of this bizarre story from the man we thought we knew.

“To tell you our story though, I’ll have to take you back to beginning. Back to my days in Boston” I closed my eyes and let his words form the story in my mind.

Jonathan heard the wood scraping across the cement floor. He knew what that sound meant. Someone must be going into the hidden basement. From the faint sound of music that reached his ears, he knew the speakeasy must be booming tonight. Jonathan knew his father never would allow him to go down there, but that didn’t stop him. He loved sneaking down there, seeing all the bootleggers from the entire city of Boston having a grand old time.

Of course Jonathan knew his father smuggled alcohol, but you would never guess it from looking at him. One would assume a banker, or even someone in finance by the way he carried himself but never what he actually was, a dirty rotten crook; swindle you out of twenty bucks without even realizing it.

Jonathan’s father’s name was Cleary Fitzpatrick and he was just as Irish as his name.  He was a short guy, only standing a good five foot seven, but was a hot headed red head that would gun you down just for looking at him wrong. He was one of the higher ups in the Gustin family gang, the biggest Irish mafia in Boston. Frank Wallace, the head of the Gustin family, was a regular to John’s house, which made the cops take notice. He could remember nights where he was awoken from loud banging and yelling as the cops came in, trying with no luck, to catch Cleary.

Jonathan slowly tip-toed his way down the hallway to the basement door. He jumped as the familiar loud booming knocks hit the door. Jonathan ran and hid underneath the table. He heard his father’s voice getting louder as he climbed the stairs.

They had a system; a guy would stand around the corner of the apartment. If someone was at the door, they would ring a bell that reached my father in the basement. See, Jonathan’s father may have been a criminal, but he wasn’t dumb. He never went down into the party he always stood guard. He wasn’t going to be shipped off to jail for a stupid reason.

Cleary made it to the door, but he paused before he reached for the handle. Suddenly, the door was kicked open. The POW of a gunshot shattered the calm. Jonathan jumped hitting his head off the table. But he knew not to move. He watched in slow motion as his father fell to the floor.

“Boston is Italian. Sleep tight you Irish bastard.” The gunmen left. Jonathan still didn’t move. It was as if he had become frozen.

“Cleary, my boy, where’d yea go?” Frank Wallace yelled with his Irish brogue booming as he climbed the stairs. He ran over to the body, feverishly looking for a pulse. He looked up, seeing Jonathan sitting there wide eyed tears brimming. Wallace motioned for Jonathan to come to him.

“Here’s a hundred dollars boyo. You’ll be needen to get outta the city as soon as you can. They’ll track yea down like a dog. Your daddy taught you well you’ll be fine! Now go!”

Jonathan woke as his head hit off the window of the bus. He must have dozed off. It had been a long day. It’d been over a year since his father’s murder, and things were starting to settle in his life. He didn’t feel the need to keep looking over his shoulder every minute. Over the year he had done some odd jobs here and there to make some money but nothing stable.

But here he was, on his way to Maine. Why Maine? Honestly he didn’t even know. He just went where the next wind blew him. As the bus slowed, he gathered his few treasured belongings.

“Friendship Maine, folks, last stop.’ Jonathan stepped off and looked around. It looked like something right off a post card. Just like the definition of Maine, small coastal town, with the endless ocean on one side and a sea of trees on the other. Jonathan had no idea what to do, so he just wandered, looking at the store fronts and enjoying the strong smell of sea salt. It reminded him of the wharf at night back home.

“You lost stranger?” Jonathan looked up to see a beautiful blue-eyed blonde smiling back at him.

“Just lookin’ for work ma’am.” Jonathan smiled knowing he couldn’t look away from the small town beauty.

“It isn’t much, but my father owns a local fishery up the road. Its seasonal work and we give you a place to stay, you just have to figure your meals out,”

“That sounds great.” Jonathan cut her off. He knew this was the best offer for work he would receive. And who could ever say no to such a sweet person? She nodded and went on her way. Jonathan watched her until she disappeared into one of the stores. He didn’t know why, but he knew she was special.

Jonathan wiped the sweat from his brow. Salt from the sea water had dried on his forehead, leaving his skin rough and dry. It had been a successful catch day but it was time to head back to shore for a good night’s rest.

As the boat reached the dock, he hopped off pulling it closer to the dock. As he tied the boat up, he heard Richard Day, the owner of the fishery, as well as the local sheriff.

“Declan wants you and some of the boys to head to Mulligans tonight if you want. Sort of a “welcome to the family” I guess you could say, boy.” He laughed a deep hearty laugh, walking up toward the street.

Jonathan finished tying and made his way up to the street. Vera was standing there talking to her father. She wore tight blue jeans with a light gray sweater. She looked up at Jonathan approaching and smiled.

“How was the water today?” Vera asked both men. Her father shrugged mumbling something about the calm seas of Maine.

“Wasn’t bad.” Jonathan said, barely loud enough for Vera to hear. She laughed. Not a hearty full-bellied laugh like her father, but a laugh that warmed him up after a long day.

“You’re a chatty one aren’t you Jonathan!” Vera joked as her father chuckled in agreement.

“Well I’ll be heading back to the house; I’ll see you two there.” Richard said as he pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and headed up the street. Vera just looked out at the water, watching the wave’s crash against the wooden dock.

“It’s beautiful isn’t it?” Vera asked Jonathan as he followed her gaze out to the endless water slapping the side of the boat. “This would be the only thing I would miss if I do leave. I would miss the sunrise and sunset over the water and the smell of salt in the air.” Vera took a deep breath.

“Where do you want to go?” Jonathan asked timidly as Vera started walking down the edge of the dock. She sat down with her legs swinging over the edge.

“No idea. Just wanna see the world, get out of here. Meet new people. You know, see if the grass really is greener!” Vera announced more to the water than to Jonathan.

“I can tell yea, it ain’t always greener.” Jonathan said his slight Irish accent apparent to any New Englander like Vera. He felt a slight pain in his stomach as he looked up at Vera. She was staring at him as if he was the world she longed to see and he didn’t have the heart to tell her it was nothing as she hoped it would be.

“So what about you, where do you wanna go?” Vera again looked at him as if was the key to everything she had wanted her entire life. This time he looked out at the water to ponder this question. He hadn’t ever actually thought about it at all. But he had lived with the Day’s long enough that the thought of leaving Maine actually seemed scary.

“Oh I dunno, maybe stay here. It’s beautiful, ain’t nowhere on the coast that comes close. Maybe start a family settle down, plant some roots.” Jonathan looked back at Vera, surprised that there wasn’t disappointed on her face from his answer.

“I can understand that, has it been awhile since you’ve found any place that’s felt like home?” Jonathan nodded thinking back to Boston. He didn’t really miss the city, but rather the feeling that he belonged, the feeling that someone cared if he came home or not.

“Well you’re more than welcome to make Maine your home.” Vera stood to stretch, reaching for Jonathan’s hand to help him up. A warm feeling washed over Jonathan that he hadn’t felt in a while. He did feel at home.

The rain was falling hard covering the slick ground. Jonathan trudged to Mulligan’s, he was a little nervous to meet Declan. He may work with him, but the guy seemed like he was in control. Even over Richard.

“Jonathan, over here!” He looked up as he was waved over by a dark haired man that stood well over 6’5. Jonathan nodded in acknowledgement. Two men that seemed to be standing guard watched Jonathan walk by.

“How are you my brother? How’s the Maine weather treatin’ yea?” Jonathan picked up on his accent immediately. Curious he sat down in the waiting chair. Jonathan only nodded.

“Would you like a drink?” Declan motioned for a waitress that hustled over. She was a busty redhead who turned red just looking at Declan. He simply raised his hand and she understood turning on the spot heading back to the kitchen.

“So, Jonathan Fitzpatrick, a man of little words I see?” Declan smiled a devilish smile, his pearl white teeth glowing in the dim lighting of the pub. Jonathan’s eyes narrowed as he stared.

“Don’t worry boyo!” Declan laughed as he slapped Jonathan on the shoulder. “We know who ya’re. Your fat’er is a legend to us here. We would have asked you to join earlier, but we had to make sure you were stayin’ in town.”

“Declan, I-” Jonathan started but the redhead waitress had placed a drink in front of him. Declan grabbed his and raised it his lips.

“Back in Ireland, it’s rude not to drink a free drink.” Jonathan looked right at Declan as he raised the glass to his lips and finished. The strong sting of alcohol burned the back of his throat. He tried to hold back a cough but he couldn’t.

“There yea go. Tastes good! It’ll put hair on yea chest and make a man outta yea.” He again slapped Jonathan on the back, causing him to cough even more. Then someone sat down next to Jonathan that made him cough even more. Vera was at the pub, and currently placing a kiss on Declan’s check.

“Vera what’re you doing here love?” Declan said as he pushed her away from him. Vera looked a little taken aback. Jonathan reached for a glass of water as Declan shooed Vera away from the table. Then Jonathan noticed the ring on Vera’s left hand for the first time.

“So Vera was engaged to Declan?” I asked startled by this new twist. Uncle John shifted in his hospital bed. His sad nod revealed how crushing this news was still to this day.

“She really did love him at first. See, Vera was never a good liar. Her eyes always gave her away. When she was sad they would be a certain shade of blue, and when she was mad they looked identical to storm clouds. And when she loved you, they were crystal clear. That’s how she looked at Declan, till she started looking at me like that.” Uncle John began again.

Jonathan was washing up when he heard someone calling his name. He stuck his head out the bathroom door to see Vera standing in his room. Her eyes that certain shade of blue that showed she was upset. Jonathan washed the rest of the shaving cream off his face and joined her on the edge of his bed.

“What did he do to you?” Jonathan said lifting her chin to look into her steely blue eyes. Then he saw it, the bruise that had started to form around her left eye. She looked away ashamed, but Jonathan pulled her close.

“He didn’t mean to. I was in his way.” Vera sobbed into Jonathan’s chest. Jonathan’s insides raged with anger. Declan had been getting worse and worse. He would be so drunk he wouldn’t show up to work or run anything. Those responsibilities fell on Jonathan’s shoulders, and he was sick of it.

“VERA! WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU.” Declan boomed from outside. Jonathan could feel Vera tense as she contemplated her next move. But Jonathan made it for her. He picked her up and placed her in the closet just in time for Declan to start banging on the door.

“I know she’s in there witchu, Jonathan. She’s MY wife ya bastard. Let me in!” Declan banged again. Jonathan opened the door and Declan leaned on the frame to hold himself up. He was a sight Jonathan thought. His hair uncombed and wild, his belt undone and shirt untucked.

Jonathan moved aside so Declan could see Vera was not in there. Declan went to take a step into the room and Jonathan stopped him.

“You tryin’ stop me?” Declan hiccupped at Jonathan as he tried to stand straight.

“Just get out of here Declan before we both do something we regret.” Jonathan managed to say through gritted teeth. Declan smiled his devilish smile and the fire in his green eyes roared. Declan raised the bottle in his hand smashing it off the wall. He stumbled towards Jonathan with the shatter glass pointing at him.

“Don’t mess with me, boyo. Or I’ll be needen to put you in yer place.” Declan slurred still stumbling towards Jonathan. Jonathan reacted. He grabbed the arm with the bottle and pulled it behind Declan’s back while his other hand reached around his throat.

“Get out, and never come back. Vera is done with you.” Jonathan spat in Declan’s ear, as he struggled to get free. Jonathan let him go, Declan regained control of his balance and pointed at Jonathan.

“You have no idea what war you’ve started, and Vera will never be done with me.” He threw the remaining piece of bottle on the ground. Jonathan shaking a bit sat down on the edge of the bed as Vera came out of the closet. They both looked at each other knowing everything was about to change.

“Get up boy.” Jonathan was awoken by Richard Day throwing a suitcase at his chest. Still half asleep, Jonathan looked around in confusion. Then he realized Richard wasn’t the only one in the room. He shot straight up in bed, but it was too late. There were the two body guards that had been with Declan that night at Mulligan’s yanking him from his bed. Richard walked over to Jonathan and looked him in the face.

“You threaten my operation, and we threaten you. We take you in, treat you like family, and this is how you repay us?” Richard nodded and the two men proceeded to kick and punch Jonathan in the stomach.

“Now I’ve always been a fair man. Being the sheriff and all, so I’m gunna let you go.” Richard spoke as Jonathan looked up into his soulless blue eyes. Then Jonathan figured it all out, no wonder it was so easy for these smugglers to never have to worry about getting caught. The authority that would make them pay was actually being paid by them! He was in charge of the whole damn thing!

Jonathan coughed, spitting up blood as another punch collided with his head. The men let him go as he fell to all fours still coughing and spitting blood. Completely defeated Jonathan collapsed to the floor.

Uncle John looked out the window, not blinking, just a staring. I wasn’t sure what to say or do.

“That was the last time I saw Vera. I joined the Navy that same week and left Maine within two. Course I tried to find her when I got back to the states, but they must have moved. The fishery had been closed for years and the old farm house was abandoned. Ask around but no one really knew what had happened to them. They all just decided to up and leave. Some say Declan died of alcohol poisoning, but there was no proof. So I moved on with my life, met my late wife Caroline and you pretty much know how that wonderful story turned out.”  Uncle John smiled at me as I stood to stretch. It had been an interesting story. I thanked him and reassured him I would visit again soon.

As I drove home that day it hit me. I should write about Uncle John’s story! I rushed home. As I ran into the house, I pulled out my laptop and just wrote everything I remembered him telling me. The words flowed as the page numbers grew and grew, till it was time to send it in.

Three weeks flew by as each article was posted to the paper. Tons of emails came in wanting to know if Vera ever found her way back to John, but I couldn’t lie and the last article went into the paper was not received well. Until one email caught my eye. The woman’s name was Vera Mahoney and she wanted to talk to me. I hastily replied with times I was available and before I knew it, Vera Mahoney was in my office.

“It’s so great to meet you!” I said reaching out my hand to hers. She smiled as she shook my hand and we both sat down. Her hair pearl white put up in a loose bun, her blue eyes magnified only slightly by her glasses.

“I read your stories in the paper. And I believe I know the man who told you.” Vera shifted her purse on her lap. I smiled as I stood to open the door. Uncle John was standing in the doorway. Time stood still as they stared at each other. Seventy-three years these two have been apart and yet they both seemed like it was only a week.

“John I’m so sorry,” Vera begin to say but before she could finish Uncle John smiled walking to over to hug her.

“I tried to find you but no one knew anything!” Uncle John said not letting her go. Vera nodded slowly as Uncle John released her.

“After you left Declan and my father were killed in a car accident. No one knows what caused it but I’m sure it had to do with alcohol. I saw that as my chance to get out of Maine, and I took it.” Vera said with empathy as Uncle John looked away.

“You have to understand they told me you left! That you found something better. And you left me nothing! I had no idea where you went or how to find you!” Vera responded frantically to Uncle John disappointed expression.

“Distance and time may pass but I know you’ll find your way back to me.” Vera looked up into Uncle John’s eyes. For that moment they were young again, for that moment nothing else mattered.

Shamu is a killer whale, or an orca whale. Technically, killer whales are a member of the dolphin family.

It’s so cold! Is this the work of an evil wizard? It’s impossible to know.

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Timeline

Orono, in Penobscot County, lies on the west side of the Penobscot River, and adjoins Bangor on the western part of each. On the north it is bounded by Oldtown, south by Veazie and Bangor, west by Glenburn and east by Bradley. The river separates it from the last. The European and North American Railway passes through the town, connecting above with the Piscataquis branch. The powers are on the Penobscot and a tributary on the western “chute” of it, called Stillwater River. This stream receives the two streams of Birch and Pushaw Streams, the last being the outlet of Pushaw Lake on the north-western border. The area of this and connected lakes is about 12 square miles. The surface is generally quite even. The land along the Penobscot is very productive, but the quality deteriorates as it recedes from the river. A large proportion of the people arc engaged in agriculture. The village is at the mouth of the Stiliwater River. There are two considerable falls on this river in the town, and successive falls amounting to 31 feet on the western channel of the Penobscot between Ayer’s Island and the village, known as “Ayer’s Falls.” The mills upon the privilege are known as the “Basin Mills.” On this power are mills containing eight single saws, four gangs, two lath, two clapboard, one shingle, two rotary saws and a machine-shop. On the powers on Stiliwater River were (according to Well’s Water. Power of Maine), twenty-two singie saws, ten gangs, and five rotary saws; and twelve lath, three shingle and four clapboard mills, and two planing-machines, one machine-shop and one grist-mill. There are also a grist-mill and a match-factory. There is still a vast amount of unused water-power in the town. The Orono National Bank has a capital of $50,000. The Orono Savings Bank, at the opening of the last fiscal year held in deposits and profits $33,455.16. The village has something of the clutter usual to lumber towns, yet the houses are generally neat and attractive, and even elegant in some cases; while the streets are beautified by large numbers of elms and maples.

Orono was settled in 1774 by Jeremiah Colburn and Joshua Ayers, the State of Massachusetts being then owner of the township. John Marsh soon after settled on an island near the site of the pmesent village, from whom it bore the name of Marsh Island. The first white woman in the place was Miss Betsey Colburn, who came in 1774. The McPheters, Whites and Spencers were also early settlers. About 1808 came John Bennoch, a native of Scotland, and Andrew Webster, father of the late Col. E. Webster. These were the most active, enterprising lumber-men on the rIver, and had a large share in founding the present prosperity of the town. The plantation name was Stillwater. The present name is that of a distinguished chief of the Tarratine or Penobscot Indians, who dwelt here at the penod of the Revolution, rendering much service to the patriots. It was incorporated March 12, 1806, and then included the territory which now constitutes Oldtown. The latter was set off in 1840. The soil of this town consists of clay and sandy barns, and is very productive.

Hon. Israel Washburn, formerly a member of the national congress and governor of Maine, was subsequently a citizen of Orono. The Congregationalists, Methodists, Universalists and Catholics each have a church in the town. The number of public schoolhouses is eleven, and the value of the school property is $12,100. The village schools are graded, and include a good high school. The State College of Agriculture and Mechanic Arts is located about one mile from the village on the east bank of the Stiliwater River in a beautiful and commanding situation. The design of this institution is to give the young men of the State the advantages of a liberal education, by affording the student opportunity of applying practically the principles he learns in the classroom, and by his labor in this application to defray a portion of his expenses. The educational qualifications required for admission are such as might be obtained in any district school. The college has five courses, viz. :—in Agriculture, Civil Engineering, Mechanical Engineering, Chemistry, and in Science and Literature. Full courses in any of these entitles a graduate to tha Bachelor’s Degree in that department. Three years after graduation, on presentation of the usual testimonials of proficiency, a full Degree is conferred. The number of students in 1880 was upwards of 100. It is a valuable institution to the people of Maine and deserves well at their hands. The valuation of Orono in 1870 was $523,888. In 1880 it was $512,624. The rate of taxation is 22 mills on a dollar. The population in 1870 was 2,888. In 1880 it was 2,245.

Orono, in Penobscot County, lies on the west side of the Penobscot River, and adjoins Bangor on the western part of each. On the north it is bounded by Oldtown, south by Veazie and Bangor, west by Glenburn and east by Bradley. The river separates it from the last. The European and North American Railway passes through the town, connecting above with the Piscataquis branch. The powers are on the Penobscot and a tributary on the western “chute” of it, called Stillwater River. This stream receives the two streams of Birch and Pushaw Streams, the last being the outlet of Pushaw Lake on the north-western border. The area of this and connected lakes is about 12 square miles. The surface is generally quite even. The land along the Penobscot is very productive, but the quality deteriorates as it recedes from the river. A large proportion of the people arc engaged in agriculture. The village is at the mouth of the Stiliwater River. There are two considerable falls on this river in the town, and successive falls amounting to 31 feet on the western channel of the Penobscot between Ayer’s Island and the village, known as “Ayer’s Falls.” The mills upon the privilege are known as the “Basin Mills.” On this power are mills containing eight single saws, four gangs, two lath, two clapboard, one shingle, two rotary saws and a machine-shop. On the powers on Stiliwater River were (according to Well’s Water. Power of Maine), twenty-two singie saws, ten gangs, and five rotary saws; and twelve lath, three shingle and four clapboard mills, and two planing-machines, one machine-shop and one grist-mill. There are also a grist-mill and a match-factory. There is still a vast amount of unused water-power in the town. The Orono National Bank has a capital of $50,000. The Orono Savings Bank, at the opening of the last fiscal year held in deposits and profits $33,455.16. The village has something of the clutter usual to lumber towns, yet the houses are generally neat and attractive, and even elegant in some cases; while the streets are beautified by large numbers of elms and maples.

Orono was settled in 1774 by Jeremiah Colburn and Joshua Ayers, the State of Massachusetts being then owner of the township. John Marsh soon after settled on an island near the site of the pmesent village, from whom it bore the name of Marsh Island. The first white woman in the place was Miss Betsey Colburn, who came in 1774. The McPheters, Whites and Spencers were also early settlers. About 1808 came John Bennoch, a native of Scotland, and Andrew Webster, father of the late Col. E. Webster. These were the most active, enterprising lumber-men on the rIver, and had a large share in founding the present prosperity of the town. The plantation name was Stillwater. The present name is that of a distinguished chief of the Tarratine or Penobscot Indians, who dwelt here at the penod of the Revolution, rendering much service to the patriots. It was incorporated March 12, 1806, and then included the territory which now constitutes Oldtown. The latter was set off in 1840. The soil of this town consists of clay and sandy barns, and is very productive.

Hon. Israel Washburn, formerly a member of the national congress and governor of Maine, was subsequently a citizen of Orono. The Congregationalists, Methodists, Universalists and Catholics each have a church in the town. The number of public schoolhouses is eleven, and the value of the school property is $12,100. The village schools are graded, and include a good high school. The State College of Agriculture and Mechanic Arts is located about one mile from the village on the east bank of the Stiliwater River in a beautiful and commanding situation. The design of this institution is to give the young men of the State the advantages of a liberal education, by affording the student opportunity of applying practically the principles he learns in the classroom, and by his labor in this application to defray a portion of his expenses. The educational qualifications required for admission are such as might be obtained in any district school. The college has five courses, viz. :—in Agriculture, Civil Engineering, Mechanical Engineering, Chemistry, and in Science and Literature. Full courses in any of these entitles a graduate to tha Bachelor’s Degree in that department. Three years after graduation, on presentation of the usual testimonials of proficiency, a full Degree is conferred. The number of students in 1880 was upwards of 100. It is a valuable institution to the people of Maine and deserves well at their hands. The valuation of Orono in 1870 was $523,888. In 1880 it was $512,624. The rate of taxation is 22 mills on a dollar. The population in 1870 was 2,888. In 1880 it was 2,245.