CHAPTER IV. 



MOOSILAUKE AND FRANCONIA NOTCH. 



"You did not take your drive this year, did you? I 

 have seen nothing of it in the papers." This oft-repeated 

 query, and many similar hints, suggest that we have kept 

 the pleasant incidents of our last summer's drive to our- 

 selves long enough ; and the kindly interest of friends we 

 know, and some we do not know, should be sufficient 

 incentive to prompt our pen to tell you all about it. 



Only those who have traveled by carriage nearly four 

 thousand miles, within a radius of two hundred miles, in 

 twelve successive summers, can appreciate the difficulty 

 which increases each year in deciding which way to go. 

 Railway travelers escape that difficulty, for they can only 

 go where the rails are laid ; but we belong to the great 

 company of tramps who wander aimlessly, and rarely 

 know in the morning where they will rest at night. We 

 had only one definite idea when we decided to go some- 

 where, and that was, not to go to the seashore, because it 

 was hot there last year ; we believe in having a reason, 

 however senseless it may be. 



During the small hours of the morning of July 13th we 

 found ourselves packing. Packing for a carriage journey 

 means looking over once more the "must haves" which 

 have been carefully selected, to see how many can be 

 dispensed with in order to reduce the quantity to the 

 amount of "baggage allowed" in a phaeton. This 

 allowance is so small that, however limited one's ward- 



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