CHAPTER XIII. 



DIXYILLE NOTCH AND THE NORTH SHORE. 



"In a buggy" ! How strange that sounds ! Not half so 

 nice as "in a phaeton." Even after such a delightful 

 journey as we have had in a buggy (there never was a 

 more ugly name for anything so nice), we grieve to tell 

 you the dear old phaeton has gone ; not to pieces, like the 

 one-hoss shay, but to be initiated into a new life, with 

 new associations and environments, which is often like 

 the elixir of life to people, and may give our phaeton 

 another quarter of a century. 



It went away a month before our journey, and every 

 time we went to drive in the new buggy we found our- 

 selves making comparisons. The seat is higher; it is not 

 upholstered on the side, and it seems as if we should fall 

 out ; the floor is narrower. How strange it seems without 

 shields — fenders, they say now! Then we would come 

 to our senses and say, How foolish ! Really, this is luxu- 

 rious — leaning back, which we could not do comfortably 

 in the phaeton, without a shawl for a pillow — how much 

 room there will be without the bags in front ! We shall 

 enjoy it partly tipped back. How much lighter for Jerry ! 

 It is nice ; of course we shall like it. The old phaeton 

 would look shabby enough beside it, with the dilapidated 

 top and faded brown cushions, but the ease of a phaeton 

 "hung round it still." What good times we did have in 

 it! 



And then we would wonder who would have it, and 

 fancy some poor man taking it, who lived a little out of 



211 



