14000 MILES 



steadily increased through the night until it seemed as if 

 there would not be a bridge left of the many we had 

 crossed the day before. 



We were interested in the fate of the little bridges, for 

 we were to retrace our steps, seventeen or eighteen miles, 

 to Glen station. We had driven up through the Notch 

 because — we wanted to; and we were going back all this 

 distance because we wanted to go on the Glen side of the 

 mountains; for with all our driving, we had never been 

 there. What a change from the drive up on Saturday! 

 How lively the streams; and the little cascades were 

 almost endless in number. 



The foliage looked brighter, too. The roads were 

 washed, but the bridges all stood. We dined once more 

 at Bartlett, then on to Jackson via Glen Station. We 

 had not thought of Jackson as so cosily tucked in among 

 the mountains. 



Again we were the only guests at the hotel, and the 

 stillness here was so overpowering, that it required more 

 courage to speak above a whisper in the great empty 

 dining-room than it did to "toot" the horn in Willey 

 Notch. 



We usually order our horse at nine, but when it pours, 

 as it did at Jackson, we frequently dine early and take the 

 whole drive in the afternoon. These rainy stop-overs 

 are among the pleasant features of our journeys. Who 

 cannot appreciate a long morning to read or write, with 

 conscience clear, however busy people may be about you, 

 having literally "nothing else to do"? It does not seem 

 to trouble us as it did the old lady at North Conway. It 

 was cool in our room, and we took our books down stairs, 



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