When we made the turn from the beach, we faced thunder clouds, which we had not seen before. We do not like to be on the road in such a shower as threatened, and there was no hotel within four or five miles. There were only small houses dotted along, but when the thunder began, we resolved to seek shelter in the first house that had a stable for Nan. We asked at the first two-story house, if there was any place near where transients were taken. No one offered to take us, but directed us to a house a little farther up the road, but there the old lady said, “Oh no, I couldn’t!” As an apology for asking her, we told her we understood she did sometimes take people. The thunder was increasing, the clouds now getting blacker, and we urged her a little, but she told us to go to the “store” a little way up, and they would take us. Reluctantly we went and asked another old lady who looked aghast. “I never take anybody, but you go to the house opposite the church; she takes folks.” By this time the lightning was flashing in all directions, and we felt drops of rain. Imagine our dismay to find the house was the one we had just left. (Ought we to have stayed at the Farragut?) We explained and begged her to keep us, promising to be as little trouble as possible. She said she was old and sick, and had nothing “cooked-up,” but she would not turn us out in such a storm, she would give us a room, and we could get something to eat at the store.

We tumbled our baggage into the kitchen, hurried Nan to the barn, and escaped the deluge. We were hardly inside when a terrific bolt came, and we left the kitchen with the open door, and stole into the front room, where windows were closed and shades down. The grand-daughter came in from the “other part,” with several children, and we all sat there, until a cry came, “Something has happened down the road!” We all rushed to the open door and word came back that a tree was struck in a yard near the house where we made our first inquiry for shelter, and a man at an open window was prostrated and had not “come to.” One of the children had run away down the street and was brought back screaming with fright, and asking if the thunder struck him! The shower was very severe, but passed over rapidly, and when the golden sunset glow came on, we began to think of making a supper from the crackers, nuts, raisins and pineapple in our lunch box, thinking how much better that was than standing in the “breadline” at San Francisco. But while we were still watching the sunset, we were called to supper, and the lunch box was forgotten. Our good lady finally told us she boarded the school masters for thirty-five years, and “took” people, but now she was alone she did not like to take men, having been frightened, and she always sends them to a man a little way up the road, but does not tell them he is the “select-man.” When they ask there, they are offered the lock-up. “If you had been two men I should have sent you there!” We talked until nearly dark, before taking our things upstairs.

Breakfast was served in the morning, and our hostess seemed ten years younger, declaring we had been no trouble. When we gave her what we usually pay at a small hotel, she accepted it reluctantly. We promised to send her the report of our journey, and she asked if we should come the same way next year.

It was all right that we did not stay at the Farragut, for that hard drive would have shortened our visit in Newburyport, and dinner with a friend at the Wolfe Tavern.

We found a large mail at Newburyport, and then looked up a way home. Really, the only fitting terminal route to such a fine journey was to follow the coast to Boston, and then home via Concord. At Hamilton we found the family tomb of Gail Hamilton, and took a snap-shot of her home.

The miles of driving along the coast, and the boulevards of the Park Reservation through Beverly, Salem, Marblehead, Swampscott, Lynn, Revere Beach and Winthrop, were a striking contrast to the miles of hills. We found friends along the way, and stayed one night close by the shore, then drove into Boston, where Nan fell into line on Atlantic avenue as unconcerned as when in the solitude of the mountains. We made a call or two as we passed through the city to Cambridge, and on through Arlington and Lexington to Concord, where we spent the last night at the Old Wright Tavern, built in 1747. It is full of souvenirs and reminders of the Revolutionary times. Framed illuminated inscriptions hung on the walls of the dining-room.

We began our last day very pleasantly, after leaving our cards at a friend’s house, by calling on the Chaplain of the Concord Reformatory, and finding in his home friends from Chicago, who asked about the revolver, which reminded us we had not taken it from the bottom of the bag in which it was packed before we left home.

At noon it began to rain, and we had the first cosy rainy drive, enjoying it as we always do. We did not regret, however, missing the deluge which came just as Nan was hurrying in to her stall. She knew all the afternoon where she was going, and was impatient with every delay. We did not blame her, for she had taken a great many steps in the seven hundred miles and more, and been equal to every demand, traveling every day but two in the whole month. The miles of this journey swell the number to nearly 15000, but we will not change the title of our book, for 14000 is a multiple of the mystic number 7, and also of the 700 miles of this Postscript.

14000

MILES