30 ON THE BIRDS' HIGHWAY 



corners and hollows ; even the smallest 

 brooks, however, were open and running 

 merrily. Just at dusk we arrived at Old 

 Orchard Beach ; the surf was breaking 

 upon the sands and the Atlantic looked 

 cold, ashen and forbidding. A change of 

 cars was necessary at Portland, where we 

 crossed to the Grand Trunk Station. 

 Standing on the platform, we looked out 

 over Casco Bay. Only a few of its three 

 hundred and sixty-five islands were visible 

 through the darkness, for night had shut 

 down in earnest. After another trouble- 

 some change of cars at Lewiston Junc- 

 tion we reached Shelburne at half after 

 eight o'clock and were met by Mr. B — — 

 in a double mountain wagon. 



The farm lay but a mile across the 

 Androscoggin River, but as the ice was 

 running we were obliged to drive three 

 miles or so up the valley, cross the only 

 bridge over the river near Shelburne, and 

 drive back down the valley to the farm. 

 When the river is solid with ice or ford- 

 able as in summer, the drive from the 

 station is about one mile instead of seven. 

 It was drizzling and the road was ankle 

 deep in mud. The horses took us gallop- 



