information interesting inversely to its accuracy.

"Mile a minute--faster'n a train--Holy Moses! what's that, Joe?
broke axle--telegraphed--how many--four more--you don't say so?--
what's his name? I'll bet it's Vanderbilt. Don't you believe it--
it costs money to run one of those machines. I'll bet he's a dandy
from 'way back--stopping at your house--bridal chamber--that's
right--you want to kill the fatted calf for them fellers--say--"

But further comments were cut short as I came out, jumped in, and
we drove back to a good supper by candle-light.

The stars were shining over head, the air was clear and crisp,
down in the valley of Lebanon the mist was falling, and it was
cool that night. Lulled by the monotonous song of the tree-toad
and the deep bass croaking of frogs by the distant stream, we fell
asleep.

There was nothing to do next day. The new steering-head could not
possibly arrive until the morning following. As the farm was
worked by a tenant, our host had little to do, and proposed that
we drive to the Shaker village a few miles beyond.

The visit is well worth making, and we should have missed it
entirely if the automobile had not broken down, for the new State
road over the mountain does not go through the village, but back
of it. From the new road one can look down upon the cluster of
large buildings on the side of the mountain, but the old roads are
so very steep, with such interesting names as "Devil's Elbow," and
the like, that they would not tempt an automobile. Many with