undred miles, carrying your kit all the way, will take from
one to two weeks, according to your age, strength, and the weather. We
have already stated that there is little _pleasure_ in walking more than
sixty miles a week. But if you wish to go as fast as you can, and have
taken pains to practise walking before starting, and can buy your food
in small quantities daily, and can otherwise reduce your baggage, you
can make the hundred miles in a week without difficulty, and more if it
is necessary, unless there is much bad weather.

The expense for food will also vary according to one's will; but it need
not be heavy if you can content yourself with simple fare. You can
hardly live at a cheaper rate than the following:--

ONE WEEK'S SUPPLY FOR TWO MEN.

Ten pounds of pilot-bread; eight pounds of salt pork; one pound of
coffee (roasted and ground); one to two pounds of sugar (granulated);
thirty pounds of potatoes (half a bushel).[26] A little beef and butter,
and a few ginger-snaps, will be good investments.

Supposing you and I were to start from home in the morning after
breakfast; when noon comes, we eat the lunch we have taken with us, and
press on. As the end of the day's march approaches, we look out to buy
two quarts of potatoes at a farmhouse or store; and we boil or fry, or
boil and mash in milk, enough of these for our supper. The breakfast
next morning is much the same. We cook potatoes in every way we know,
and eat the whole of our stock remaining, thus saving so much weight to
carry. We also soak some pilot-bread, and fry that for a dessert, eating
a little sugar on it if we can spare it. When dinner-time approaches, we
keep a lookout for a chance to buy ten or twelve cents' worth of bread
or biscuits. These are more palatable than the pilot-bread or crackers
in our haversack. If we have a potato left from breakfast, we cook and
eat it now. We cut off a slice of the corned beef, and take a nibble at
the ginger-snaps. If we think we can afford three or four cents more, we
buy a pint of milk, and make a little dip-toast. And so we go;
sometimes we catch a fish, or pass an orchard whose owner gives us all
the windfalls we want. We pick berries too; and keep a sharp lookout
that we supply ourselves in season when our pilot-bread, sugar, pork,
and butter run low. Some days we overtake farmers driving ox-carts or
wagons; we throw our kits aboard, and walk slowly along, willing to lose
a little time to save our