CHAPTER III
Fourth of July on Kinsman
As the train passed along the high embankment
above the village of Deerfield, Massachusetts,
the boys crowded to the windows on the left side of
the car, and gazed out upon the meadows where
they had camped at the turning point of their first
long hike, several years before. The village looked
sleepy and quiet, under its great trees.
"Golly, they need waking up again!" Peanut laughed. "Remember how we trimmed 'em in baseball? There's the field we played on, too."
But almost before the rest could follow Peanut's beckoning finger, the train was past. Deerfield was the last familiar spot they saw. Their way led northward, mile after mile, beside the Connecticut River, and they began to get a pretty good idea of what a lengthy thing a big river is.
"Take a good look at that river, boys," said Mr. Rogers, "because in a few days we are going to eat our lunch at one of its head waters, and you can see what little beginnings big things have."
In the afternoon, they came in sight of Mount Ascutney, close to the river in Windsor, Vermont.
