The distance to Chambersburg is longer than the distance to Gettysburg and the hills are steep. But the morning sunlight slanted through the trees, the birds sang, laurel bloomed everywhere, and there was a succession of sweet odors, many of which Elizabeth could not identify. The woods were for the most part still virgin and into their depths an occasional road or path invited.
In an open place they passed a park with pavilions and swings, where a queer old ruin which seemed the work of a fire stood against a hillside. It was not the ruin of a house or barn; it was difficult to tell what it was.
“I’m going to find out,” said Elizabeth. “I’m going to learn all about this mountain. Perhaps this place was burned when Chambersburg was burned. That was a year after the battle of Gettysburg—that is, I think it was. It’s hard to realize that there was fighting here or anything else but peace and happiness. As I remember, people had to flee from the fire for their lives. I suppose it’s hard to forgive things like that.”
She drove through the eastern part of the town and into the busy square, then she turned to the right. After she had driven several blocks, she began to offer her wares. As at Gettysburg, the beginning was propitious. The first purchaser asked whether they were newcomers, and Elizabeth told happily their history.
“We lived in the West, but after our mother died, we decided to come back to our grandfather’s place and raise apples. My brother and I are alone.”
“Where is your grandfather’s place?” asked the lady kindly.
“On the road to Gettysburg.”
“What was your grandfather’s name? I know many families on that road.”
“His name was John Baring. The house which he built in 1860 is still standing and in good condition and we live there. We—”
The stranger seemed to be indifferent to what Elizabeth had to say further.