56 DECEMBER OUT-OF-DOORS. 
Christmas. I rose long before daylight, 
crossed the Mystic River marshes as the 
dawn was beginning to break, and shortly 
after sunrise was on my way down the South 
Shore. Leaving the cars at Cohasset, I 
sauntered over the Jerusalem Road to Nan- 
tasket, spent a little while on the beach, 
and brought up at North Cohasset, where I 
was attracted by a lonesome-looking road 
running into the woods all by itself, with a 
guide-board marked “Turkey Hill.” Why 
not accept the pleasing invitation, which 
seemed meant on purpose for just such an 
idle pedestrian as myself? As for Turkey 
Hill, I had never heard of it, and presumed 
it to be some uninteresting outlying hamlet. 
My concern, as a saunterer’s ought always 
to be, was with the road itself, not with 
what might lie at the end of it. I did not 
discover my mistake till I had gone half a 
mile, more or less, when the road all at once 
turned sharply to the right and commenced 
ascending. Then it dawned upon me that 
Turkey Hill must be no other than the long, 
gradual, grassy slope at which I had already 
been looking from the railway station. The 
prospect of sea and land was beautiful; all 
