tly bewildering in its beauty of overhanging trees, moss-grown
rocks and fern-bordered brook tumbling over the massive boulders in its
rapid descent to join the Hoosac; and then united they flow through the
pretty town of Adams, turning the countless wheels of the great mills
and factories.

The next day after the reunion a merry party of thirty, the guests of a
cousin, William Anthony, started in two great coaches, each drawn by six
horses, for the all-day trip to the top of Mount Greylock. The gayest
and happiest of them all was Miss Anthony, with her red shawl over her
shoulders, and her heart as light as when she used to climb these
mountainsides, a little, barefooted girl, more than seventy years ago.
Several days thereafter were spent visiting the pleasant homes of the
relatives, and going with her friends to point out the various places of
interest. Every spot connected with her early life was as sacred to them
as it was dear to her. Together they went to the deserted Quaker meeting
house, a century and a half old, and were shown the very spot where sat
the grandfather, the father, mother and little ones; and the raised
bench occupied by the grandmother, who was a "high-seat Quaker," and
Aunt Hannah Hoxie, the preacher. They strolled through the little
graveyard, with its lines of unmarked mounds. They visited the site of
the old mill, built by Daniel Anthony at the very beginning of the
manufacturing industry, where now only a few sunken stones mark the
foundation. They rested beneath the great trees which stand like
sentinels in front of the girlhood home of the mother, the house long
since crumbled away. They gazed curiously at the ancient Bowen's Tavern,
the favorite stopping-place of the mountaineers in early days.

And then they went with Miss Anthony into her own old home. They stepped
reverently into the very room where she was born. They climbed to the
garret and she pointed out the exact spot by the tiny window where she
used to sit with her simple playthings. They stood with her by the
little stream which still ran merrily through the dooryard, and listened
with misty eyes as she recalled many touching incidents of days long
past; but, however her own heart might have ached with tender
recollections, there were no words of vain longing, no useless tears for
those who had fulfilled their mission and passed away, leaving to her
their legacy of hope and courage and determination. Strong, brave and
cheerf