The
stout horses scrambled up the steep hills altogether unmindful of the
wagon-loads of people behind. Perhaps the light hearts and buoyant
spirits of the party lessened their avoirdupois and the tonnage was
actually less than it seemed!
Billowy mountains, charming valleys, winding streams and picturesque
bypaths varied our course over the rural highways. The blackberry bushes
were white with bloom and the gardens of the farm-houses gay with
peonies and flower-de-luce. After passing a small mica quarry, we came
suddenly upon a bend of the road where was revealed a grand sweep of the
hazy Green Mountains, and a bewildering view of the New Hampshire
hill-country. Shortly afterward we passed the little box-like white
building, which serves as both church and town house, where the sixty
votes of Dorchester are counted. This building constitutes the entire
town of Dorchester. Surely, in view of the stony soil, the inhabitants
of the place may be said to show great wisdom by not living there!
By three o'clock we found ourselves at the Mountain House, twelve
hundred feet below the summit of Mount Cardigan.
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