b, or gilded
eggs. It did look so idyllic!

We couldn't mistake Kennebunk when we came to it, because it advertises
itself on a sign-post: "This is Kennebunk, the Town You Read About." I
_hadn't_ read about it, but I felt I ought, for if ever there was a
typical New England town, Kennebunk is _It_! We slipped in along a
grass-grown, shady way, with old houses looking at us virtuously with
sparkling eyes, as virtuously as if they hadn't been built with good
gold paid for rum. I think that was what the ships used to bring back
from their long voyages; but maybe the most virtuous-looking houses were
built with molasses. The ships brought that, too.

There are two rivers--the Monsam (at the Monsam House Lafayette stayed)
and the Kennebunk, and there's a roaring mill, but greatest of all
attractions at Kennebunk is that of going on to Kennebunkport. Mrs.
Deland has a house there, and Booth Tarkington, too, and it's a dear
delightful place, with arbourlike streets running inland, and deep lawns
with elms shaped like big shower bouquets for brides.

It wasn't long after Kennebunkport that we beheld for the first time
sawmills, and logs that had come down from the White Mountains. That was
a thrill! For we were on our way to the White Mountains. We saw no sign
of them yet, but there was no cause for impatience. The landscape was as
lovely as if planned by the master of all landscape gardeners. There
were quaint features, too, as well as beautiful ones: everywhere funny
little tin boxes standing up on sticks by the roadside, labelled "U.S.
Mail," with no guardians but squirrels and birds, and apparently no one
to read or send letters.

Biddeford was attractive, and so was Portland, but Portland was the
means of delaying our car. Jack would go wandering to the eastern side
of the nice city, to find a monument he had read about, overlooking
Casco Bay. Underneath are buried, in one grave, the commanders of the
_Enterprise_ and the _Boxer_, British and American ships. The American
won, but both commanders were killed, and the Britisher had been so
brave that they thought their own captain would like to lie by his side.
It wasn't a grand monument to see, but I love the idea. And another
thing I love about Portland is the thought that Longfellow was born
there in sight of the ocean.

By and by, a good long time after we had got out of Portland by Forest
Avenue, our road began to run uphill. In a park leading to Raymond,
where Ha