“Oh, do you live in Leominster? Do you know ——?”
“Oh, yes, she is in our Sunday-school class.”
This is only one of the many pleasant incidents of our wanderings.
We spent that night at Haverhill and had one more camp, our last for the trip, this time on the warm side of a deserted barn.
Two and a half days’ driving up hill and down to Dover, and over a good road through Rochester and Farmington, brought us to Alton Bay, where we all went on board the Mt. Washington for the sail of thirty miles to Centre Harbor. Jerry was tied in the bow, and as we got under way the wind was so strong we should have had to wrap him up in our shawls and waterproofs if the captain had not invited him inside. We braved it on deck, for Lake Winnipiseogee is too pretty to lose.
We “did” Centre Harbor some years ago, so drove on directly we landed. At Moultonboro we stopped to make some inquiries, and while waiting, the clouds grew very mysterious, looking as if a cyclone or something was at hand, and we decided to spend the night there. The people were looking anxiously at the angry sky; and the Cleveland flag was hastily taken down; but no sooner were we and the flag under cover than the sun came out bright, dispelling the blackness. We wished we had gone on as we intended, and looked enviously on the Harrison flag, which waved triumphantly, not afraid of a little cloud.
We saw a large trunk by the roadside as we drove through the woods next morning. We gave all sorts of explanations for a good-looking trunk being left in such an out-of-the-way place, but, not being “reporters,” we did not “investigate” or “interview,” but dismissed the matter with, “Why, probably it was left there for the stage.” We do not feel quite satisfied yet, for why any one should carry a trunk half a mile to take a stage when we had no reason to think there was any stage to take, is still a mystery.
We got all over our disappointment at stopping early for the cloud, for the drive, which was so lovely that bright morning, would have been cold and cheerless the night before. It seemed as if we went on all sides of Chocorua, with its white peak and pretty lake at the base. Why has somebody said—
“Tired Chocorua, looking down wistfully into
A land in which it seemed always afternoon.”