168 IN BERKSHIRE FIELDS 



The rest of the tramp down that forgotten road 

 was tinder the shouldered burden of them, and 

 when the alders met overhead there was less re- 

 joicing than before. 



So we emerged, at length, into a road which we 

 knew was not abandoned, chiefly because we de- 

 tected the track of a motor tire, and in time swung 

 the circle home, or to our own waiting motor, rather, 

 because in these days you go on a tramp by riding 

 as far as you can, and walking only when you are 

 sure no cars will follow you. 



The total length of this particular abandoned road 

 was, I suppose, about six miles. It ran north and 

 south. By employing here and there a few back- 

 country highways to bridge the gaps, I think it 

 would be possible, however, to walk from Connec- 

 ticut to Vermont, across western Massachusetts, 

 or from the Housatonic Valley to the brook-heads 

 of the Connecticut Valley, on practically abandoned 

 and in places virtually forgotten roads. I have 

 never done it; one no longer has time for such 

 amiable or wistful wanderings in these latter 

 days. But I am sure it could be done, with 

 sufficient zigzagging, consultation of ancient gazet- 

 teers, and consultation with ancient gossips. 

 The ancient gazetteers alone are interesting; the 

 ancient gossips more so. Some day I shall try it. 

 It is my Carcassonne. And, who knows, I may 

 find another corner cupboard? They once lived 

 well on our forgotten roads, with fires that roared 

 on marble hearthstones, to send back reflections 

 from blue-china bowls and glints from the white 

 paint on wide pine panels, worked by hand. Now, 



