14000 MILES 



For more than two hundred and fifty miles we had 

 been away from the trolleys, and the busy world, among 

 the mountains and lakes, and recreation lovers every- 

 where, from the tent on the river bank to the large 

 mountain houses. Now came the familiar ways through 

 the country towns and villages, the gathering and press- 

 ing wild flowers for Christmas cards, catching a pretty 

 picture with the camera, and a drive along the Merrimac 

 in the cool of the morning, the atmosphere clear as 

 crystal after another dry shower, when clouds 

 threatened but gave no rain. 



Then there were the lovely camping places at noon, 

 the hospitable farmers, and the pleasant chats in the 

 kitchen while our spoons were being washed — the 

 souvenir spoons that were presented to us with a poem 

 after our twenty-fifth journey. One bright young 

 woman discovered the silver we left when we returned 

 the milk pitcher and glasses, and came after us, forcing 

 it into our hands, telling us not to dare leave it, but come 

 again and she would give us a gallon. At another place 

 where we asked permission to stop in a little grove, the 

 farmer came out and set up a table for us, and gave us use 

 of a hammock. We prolonged our stay to the utmost 

 limit — nearly three hours — reading in the buggy and 

 hammock under the fragrant pines, our horse tied close 

 by, nodding and "swishing" the flies. We have an 

 amusing reminder of that camp, for we had posed Nan 

 for the camera, and just as it snapped she dashed her 

 nose into one of the paper bags on the table. 



A notable experience in the latter part of every jour- 

 ney is a visit to the blacksmith, and it came, as often 



250 



