After two hours of concentrated admiration of the rocky peak, what wonder we were hypnotized, and that on leaving the lake with one mind we confidently took the turn that would have led us to the summit in time! Having driven a distance which we knew should have brought us to the next village, we began to suspect something was wrong. There was nothing to do but to go on, for there was not a turn to right or left, and not a house in sight. We were surely on a main road to somewhere, so we kept on, until we met a farmer driving, who brought us to our senses. We were miles out of our way, but by following his directions in the course of the afternoon we arrived safely at our destination for the night.
Immediately we took our books and writing-tablet, and climbed to a summer house on a knoll just above the hotel, commanding a magnificent view of Chocorua, also Passaconaway, White Face, Sandwich Dome, and several others of the range. After supper we returned to the knoll for the sunset, and later were interested in what was thought to be a bonfire at the Appalachian camp on the summit of Passaconaway, lingering until the outlines were lost in the darkness.
We were up before six o’clock and went to the hammock in the summer house before breakfast, and if it had not been such a beautiful day for the sail through Lake Winnipiseogee, we would have been strongly tempted to stay over at this homelike place, the Swift River House, Tamworth Village, New Hampshire, opened only last year, and already attracting lovers of fishing and hunting.
A drive of seventeen miles with Chocorua in the background, and raspberries in abundance by the wayside, brought us to Centre Harbor, where we took the boat for Alton Bay. A trip through Lake Winnipiseogee sitting in the buggy in the bow of the Mt. Washington, is an indescribable pleasure, and even our horse seemed to enjoy it, after she became accustomed to the new experience. On the way we had our parting glimpses of Mt. Washington and Chocorua.
With this glorious sail the “revelation” was fulfilled, and the one hundred miles—or nearly that—between us and home was like the quiet evening after an eventful day.
For more than two hundred and fifty miles we had been away from the trolleys, and the busy world, among the mountains and lakes, and recreation lovers everywhere, from the tent on the river bank to the large mountain houses. Now came the familiar ways through the country towns and villages, the gathering and pressing wild flowers for Christmas cards, catching a pretty picture with the camera, and a drive along the Merrimac in the cool of the morning, the atmosphere clear as crystal after another dry shower, when clouds threatened but gave no rain.
Then there were the lovely camping places at noon, the hospitable farmers, and the pleasant chats in the kitchen while our spoons were being washed—the souvenir spoons that were presented to us with a poem after our twenty-fifth journey. One bright young woman discovered the silver we left when we returned the milk pitcher and glasses, and came after us, forcing it into our hands, telling us not to dare leave it, but come again and she would give us a gallon. At another place where we asked permission to stop in a little grove, the farmer came out and set up a table for us, and gave us use of a hammock. We prolonged our stay to the utmost limit—nearly three hours—reading in the buggy and hammock under the fragrant pines, our horse tied close by, nodding and “swishing” the flies. We have an amusing reminder of that camp, for we had posed Nan for the camera, and just as it snapped she dashed her nose into one of the paper bags on the table.
A notable experience in the latter part of every journey is a visit to the blacksmith, and it came, as often before, unexpectedly on the way. The chatting that goes with the shoeing would be good material for Mary Wilkins.
At last came a rainy day, without which no journey is quite complete. We had a leisure morning with our books, and after an early dinner enjoyed an easy, comfortable drive in the rain, which ended our journey of more than four hundred miles in two weeks and two days.