THE LITTLE TOWN ON THE HILL 177 



hilltop communities are slipping rapidly back into 

 decay and even, at times, degeneracy. It seems almost 

 impossible for the pioneer to remain true to his breed 

 when once the modern world has surrounded him. His 

 good young blood begins to hear the siren call of the 

 cities, and decay sets in. 



Yet even in their decay our hill towns keep an old- 

 world charm. Their names, too, are picturesque. 

 There is Florida, on top of the mountain close to the 

 new Mohawk Trail. It was here that a passing auto- 

 mobilist once asked a little girl by the roadside where 

 she lived. 



"Florida," the child replied. 



"My, you are a long way from home, aren't you?" 

 exclaimed the tourist. 



Then there is Peru, swept by all the winds that blow, 

 where the general store and the two or three houses at 

 the crossroads, which you reach after an endless climb, 

 mark the centre of village life, and it might be said (as it 

 is said of Goshen, Connecticut) that the inhabitants 

 never use their snow till the second Winter. Peru is a 

 hotbed of political strife, and the license question, too, is 

 a burning issue. Last year the town went wet by a 

 large majority, twenty-one to fourteen, if I remember 

 correctly. Mount Washington Township, under the 

 cone of Mount Everett, and above the leaping Bash Bish 

 Falls, boasts fourteen voters, twelve of them staunch 

 Republicans. It is said that every man in the village 



