"We might turn," suggested the Anakim, looking bright.

"How can you turn a horse in this knitting-needle of a lane?"
I demanded.

"I don't know," replied Halicarnassus, dubiously, "unless I
take him up in my arms, and set him down with his head the
other way,"--and immediately turned him deftly in a corner
about half as large as the wagon.

The next lane we came to was the right one, and being narrow,
rocky, and rough, we left our carriage and walked.

A whole volume of the peaceful and prosperous history of our
beloved country could be read in the fact that the once
belligerent, life-saving, death-dealing fort was represented
by a hen-coop; yet I was disappointed. I was hungry for a
ruin,--some visible hint of the past. Such is human nature,--
ever prone to be more impressed by a disappointment of its own
momentary gratification than by the most obvious well-being of
a nation but, glad or sorry, of Fort Edward was not left one
stone upon another. Several single stones lay about,
promiscuous rather than belligerent. Flag-staff and palisades
lived only in a few straggling bean-poles. For the heavy
booming of cannon rose the "quauk!" of ducks and the cackling
of hens. We went to the spot which tradition points out as the
place where Jane McCrea met her death. River flowed, and
raftsmen sang below; women stood at their washing-tubs, and
white-headed children stared at us from above; nor from the
unheeding river or the forgetful weeds came or cry or faintest