CHAPTER IX
The Crawford Notch
The road kept on going down, too, through the
woods. The driver told them that this was
Three Mile Hill, and nobody disputed him. It was
certainly three miles. All the cars they met coming
up were on the lowest speed, and chugging hard.
At the bottom, they came into the little village of
Franconia, and behind them they could see the
mountains they had been climbing, piled up against
the sky.
"How about grub?" Art suddenly exclaimed. "We've got to stock up before we start to-morrow. In fact, we haven't enough for supper to-night—and it's Sunday."
Nobody had thought of that, but Mr. Goodwin's chauffeur was equal to the emergency. He drove to the storekeeper's house, who opened the store, and sold them what they needed.
"Suppose I'm breaking the law," he said, "but I shouldn't want to see you fellers go hungry!"
Then they got in the car again, turned eastward, climbed a hill past the Forest Hill Hotel, and spun
