ere being
helped into the wagon after the baggage had been stowed away. "I do hope
your horses are safe, Hiram. Now, Marty, be sure to hold on with both
hands when we come to the worst places."

"Don't you be 'fraid, Mrs. Ashford; there isn't a mite of danger," said
Hiram, gathering up the reins. "Get up!"

"Get up!" cried Freddie, who had watched the process of getting started
with the greatest interest, and who was now holding a pair of imaginary
reins in one tiny fist and flourishing an imaginary whip with the other.

Hiram laughed aloud. That Freddie could walk was funny enough, but that
he could talk and make believe drive was too much for Hiram. It was some
time before he got over it.

"How's Evaline?" asked Marty. "Why didn't she come to meet us?"

"She's spry. She wanted to come along down, but her ma was afraid
'twould crowd you."

[Illustration: They approached an open, level place from which there was
a magnificent view. Page 113]

After a drive of about three miles among the mountains, the winding road
gradually ascending, with here and there a somewhat steep incline, they
approached an open, level place from which there was a magnificent view
of what Marty called the "real mountains." For these wooded or
cultivated hills they were driving among were only the beginnings of the
range. Here was a cluster of houses and a white frame "hotel" with green
blinds.

"They've been doing right smart of building in Riseborough since you
were up," said Hiram to Mrs. Ashford. "You see the hotel's done, and
Sims has built him a new store, and Mrs. Clarkson's been building on to
her cottage."

"Is the hotel a success?" asked Mrs. Ashford.

"First-rate. Full all last summer, and Dutton expects a lot of folks
this season. A big party came up t'other day."

They had a chance to see the guests at the hotel, ladies on the piazzas
and children playing in the green yard, while Hiram stopped to do an
errand at the store, which was also the postoffice.

Nearly another mile of up-hill brought them to their destination--a
brown farmhouse with its red barns and granaries standing in the midst
of smiling fields and patches of cool, dark woods, while in the distance
rose grand, solemn mountains.

There was Evaline, seated on the low gatepost, and Mrs. Stokes and her
grownup daughter, Almira, in the doorway, all on the lookout and ready
to wave their handkerchiefs the moment the wagon appeared.

"It's more like going to