14000 MILES 



ing along, or there is only a dry stony path that tells they 

 once lived, and the roadsides look like dusty millers. 

 Now, fancy a drive without the sunshine to blind your 

 eyes, no dust (surely not, when the mud fairly clogs the 

 wheels), every tree and shrub glistening and all the little 

 mountain streams awakened to life and tearing along, 

 crossing and recrossing your path like playful children ; 

 indeed, all Nature's face looking like that of a beautiful 

 child just washed. Really, there is no comparison. 



Perhaps you are thinking that is a dull day drive. 

 Now, how about a drive when it pours. Oh, that is 

 lovely — so cosy! A waterproof and veil protect you, 

 and the boot covers up all the bags and traps, and there 

 is a real fascination in splashing recklessly through the 

 mud, knowing you have only to say the word and you 

 will come out spick and span in the morning. 



We have purposely put all the weather in one spot, like 

 "Lord" Timothy Dexter s punctuation marks, and now 

 you can sprinkle it in according to your recollection of 

 the September days, and go on with us, ignoring the rain, 

 as we did, excepting casual comments. 



Our journey was the fulfilment of the longing we felt 

 for the mountains, when we were driving home from our 

 Narragansett Pier and Newport trip one year ago. Per- 

 haps you remember those hazy, soft-tinted days, the very 

 last of September. The air was like summer, as we drove 

 along through Framingham to Southboro, gathering 

 those gorgeous sumacs by the wayside, and wishing we 

 could go straight north for two weeks. 



The morning of Sept. 6th, 1888, was very bright, just 

 the morning to start "straight north," but with our usual 



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