"1743," Ethel repeated, doing some subtraction by the aid of her fingers, for arithmetic was not her strong point. "A hundred and eighty-seven years," she decided after reflection. "Yes, that seems pretty old to me. It's a lot older than Rosemont but over a hundred years younger than Plymouth or Boston."
"A sort of middle age," Mr. Emerson summed up her decision with a smile.
After luncheon at the hotel an early afternoon car sped on with them to a station whence they took an automobile for a drive through Stockbridge and Lenox with their handsome estates and lovely views.
The trolley whizzed them back over the same route to North Adams and westward to Williamstown.
"One of my brothers--your great-uncle James, Ethel Brown--went to Williams College," said Mr. Emerson, "and I shall be glad to spend the night here and see the town and the buildings I heard him talk so much about."
"Why don't we get out, then?"
"We're going now to Bennington, Vermont."
"Vermont! Into another state!" exclaimed Ethel Blue.
"When we come back we'll leave the car here."
"Are those the Green Mountains?" asked Dorothy as the trolley ran into a smoother country than they had been in while traveling in the Berkshires, but one which showed a background of long wooded ranges rising length after length against the sky.