14000 MILES 



thought it the prettiest village we had seen in Canada. 

 The main street is alongside the river, and as we stood 



on the deck, we caught sight of Mr. and Ruthie 



walking down street, and waved a salute with our hand- 

 kerchiefs. In a few moments more we landed, and perch- 

 ing Ruthie on the top of our bags, we drove back to a 

 charming home, walking in upon our somewhat sur- 

 prised friends as if it was an every-day occurrence. 



Rowing is the thing to do there, and we had a feast of 

 it, exploring the "Little Rivers" with so many unex- 

 pected turns. Then too, of course, we rowed out to take 

 the wake of the big boats, all of which recalled vividly 

 gala times farther up the river, in days before carriage 

 journeys were dreamed of even. 



When we at last faced about and said good-by to our 

 friends, we realized we were a long way from home. We 

 knew now what was before us ; indeed, could trace the 

 way in mind way back to the State line, and then the 

 length of Vermont or New Hampshire, as the case might 

 be. At all events we must take in the Shayback camp 

 on Lake Memphremagog before we left Canada, and as a 

 direct course promised to take us over hills too large to 

 illustrate by lamp-wicking, we followed the Richelieu 

 again, revisited the Saints Hilaire and Cesaire, and 

 turned east farther south. Our hosts along the way who 

 had directed us to Berthier, were now confirmed in their 

 belief that "we could go anywhere." When we turned 

 east, after leaving St. Cesaire, we felt we were going 

 among strangers once more, so we prepared ourselves by 

 stopping in a stumpy land, uninhabited even by beasts, 

 and blacking our boots by the wayside. 



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