14000 MILES 



ever drove that way." She is the mother of Lizzie 

 Bourne, whose sad story and monument of stones every 

 visitor to Mt. Washington will remember. 



At Kennebunkport we surprised a party of young 

 friends on the cliffs, and made another promised call. We 

 found the place with some difficulty, and learned our 

 friend was in Massachusetts. We thought hospitality 

 reigned supreme there, when we and our horse were 

 taken bodily possession of for luncheon and a three- 

 hours' visit, by a lady whom we had never seen before. 

 Every moment passed pleasantly, and we reluctantly left 

 our new-found friend en route to Old Orchard, towards 

 which point we had been driving for days, just as if it 

 had all been planned instead of "happening." 



It was our first visit to this favorite resort, and we 

 stayed several days, waiting for letters, and doing what 

 everybody does at such places — driving, walking and 

 gathering shells on the beach; reading, chatting and 

 crocheting on the piazzas, occasionally wondering where 

 we should find ourselves next. The heat was almost 

 insufferable — land breeze night and day. Perhaps we 

 could have borne it better if we had known then that the 

 invalid we watched with some interest was Vennor him- 

 self, sharing with the rest the tortures of the fulfilment 

 of his prophecies. As it was we were ready for a change. 

 Our letters assured us all was well at home, and we 

 decided to drive across country to Lake Winnipiseogee. 



As we sat at the breakfast table the morning we were 

 to leave, a lady at our right casually addressed us, and 

 when she learned we were driving for pleasure enthusi- 

 astically exclaimed, "Oh! you must visit Hollis, a 



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