Chapter VII 



TANGLEWOOD LANE AND SKIPPACK CREEK 



IN the rural borough of CoUegeville, 

 only a short distance above my home 

 and as dear to my heart as some typi- 

 cal New England town like Concord to that 

 of an average Yankee, there is a sequestered 

 road which, just about the time it had drifted 

 back finally to primeval nature even in the 

 midst of civihzation, was, strange to say, 

 advanced in nomenclature to the proud 

 dignity of ''Fifth avenue/' 



It is a case which proves that with roads 

 also, as with roses, there is nothing in a 

 name. At least not very much. ''Fifth 

 avenue '^ it may be for a square or so, if 

 you insist. But no farther. For, after 

 that, it shps around a sharp turn; shakes 

 off its ponderous, ill-fitting title with quick 

 impatience; plunges down a rocky hill, 

 just grazing a fine little patch of forest 



[93] 



