14000 MILES 



the examination went on, and when the man looked up 

 with a face worthy a second Collyer and said it was all 

 right, we felt like having a jubilee. He carefully pro- 

 tected the injured spot, reset the shoes, and pronounced 

 the horse ready for use. We added this Boston-born 

 blacksmith to our list of never-to-be-forgotten friends 

 and began our journey anew. 



Was this an inspired creature we were driving? On 

 he sped, and his eyes were in every direction, looking for 

 some adequate excuse to jump. Surely, the limping 

 Charlie was a myth ! Bennington and Antrim were left 

 behind, and night found us at Hillsboro Bridge, twenty 

 miles from our good blacksmith, the pleasantest remem- 

 brance we had of Peterboro. 



Now we were really going somewhere, we must fix 

 upon some place to meet letters from home. We took 

 the map and cast our eyes up and down New Hampshire, 

 but whether we fled to the borders or zigzagged through 

 the interior, there was no escaping familiar routes. Being 

 unanimously persistent in facing north, we bethought 

 ourselves of the transformed "Flume," and immediately 

 fixed upon Plymouth for a mail centre. Charlie's spirits 

 were unabated the next day, and we rested him at 

 Warren. It was useless to ask directions, for everybody 

 was determined we must take the great highway to the 

 mountains, through Concord. This we were not going to 

 do, and as a first digression we drove around Mt. Kear- 

 sarge in Warner and spent a night at the Winslow 

 House, a very attractive hotel half way up the mountain. 

 A slight repentance may have come over us as we left 

 the main road and attacked the hills that lay between us 



53 



