othy on the defensive, "that in the beginning
all the people in the world were named Smith and it was only those who
misbehaved who had their names changed."

"You can at least pride yourself on their being an industrious lot.
Think of all their crafts--they were armorers and goldsmiths, and
silversmiths and blacksmiths."

CHAPTER XII

THE BERKSHIRES AND BENNINGTON

Greenfield, where the party spent the night, they found to be a
pleasant old town with the wide, tree-bordered streets to which they
were growing accustomed in this trolleying pilgrimage. A quiet hotel
sheltered them and they slept soundly, their dreams filled with
memories of colleges and rose gardens and Indians in romantic
confusion. The next day they started westward.

Pittsfield they found to be a large town whose old houses surrounded by
ancient trees gave a feeling of solidity and comfort.

"Longfellow wrote 'The Old Clock on the Stairs' here," said Mr. Emerson
pointing out the Appleton house. "The first stanza describes more than
one of the old mansions," and he recited:--

"Somewhat back from the village street
Stands the old-fashioned country seat.
Across its antique portico
Tall poplar-trees their shadows throw,
And from its station in the hall
An ancient timepiece says to all,--
'Forever--never!
Never--forever!'"

"I remember that poem, but I never liked it much;" acknowledged
Dorothy; "it's too gloomy."

"It is rather solemn," admitted Mr. Emerson. "You'll be interested to
know that merry Dr. Holmes used to come to Pittsfield in the summer.
There are many associations with him in the town."

"I'm sure he wrote gayer poems than 'The Old Clock on the Stairs' when
he was here."

"Is this a very old town?" Ethel Blue asked.

"It was settled in 1743. Does that seem old to you?"

[Illustration: "It was settled in 1743"]

"1743," Ethel repeated, doing some subtraction by the aid of her
fingers, for arithmetic was not her strong point. "A hundred and
eighty-seven years," she decided after reflection. "Yes, that seems
pretty old to me. It's a lot older than Rosemont but over a hundred
years younger than Plymouth or Boston."

"A sort of middle age," Mr. Emerson summed up her decision with a smile.

After luncheon at the hotel an early afternoon car sped on with them to
a station whence they took an automobile for a drive through
Stockbridge and Lenox with their handsome estates and lovely views