WHEN YOU WENT TO THE FAIR 
jumped into the buggy and sped down the 
Old Lane, no less real because of its ex- 
treme rural simplicity. 
Oh! that long ride to what in your boyish 
imagination was a great city. Up hill and 
down dale, over those wonderful country 
roads—wonderful now, perhaps, remember- 
ing the rocks and breakers thereon. But 
you did not notice the rough places then; it 
was the best you knew. It was a great drive, 
and no mistake! From every nook and cor- 
ner over the countryside came folks in car- 
riages, wagons and all sorts of vehicles; 
some on horseback, some on foot. Even old 
Deacon Hardscrabble resurrected his vet- 
eran “rockaway.”’ All bound for that place 
of many wonders, the fair. 
Everybody had a cheerful greeting to give 
203 
you. Perhaps the boys chaffed you more or 
less; or it may be your girl acquaintances in 
their many-tinted finery giggled or said 
“real mean” things; still that did not mat- 
ter, for everything was taken in the spirit of 
good humor that possessed one and all. 
The countryside itself seemed in a gay 
mood. The bright fall flowers—asters and 
goldenrod, cardinal flowers and jewel-weed 
—how bright they all shone in the gorgeous 
sunshine. Here and there the birds were 
congregating, in bands of a dozen or a hun- 
dred, preparatory to their departure for the 
Southland. Perhaps the “Spring o’ the 
year” of the lark was wafted faintly across 
the meadows to you, which set the passing 
year at naught. Even the bluebird’s plain- 
tive “Far-away” did{not;seem-as sad as it 

stopped at every lemonade-stand if only to show they had the coin 
