It is one of the pleasantest bits of road in all that section of country, winding up and up, with level stretches like plateaus between the ascents, and with delightful views of wooded hills, green in their summer dress, and mountains, purple with the haze which rests upon them when in the valley below the air is quivering with the heat of July and August. To your right you get glimpses of a pond where the white lilies grow in abundance, and whose waters help to turn the machinery of the manufacturing town at the foot of the hill. It is not a large place, but with its white houses and green blinds it makes a pretty picture, and you keep looking back at it as you bowl along the smooth road between hedges of blackberry bushes and low alders and red sumachs. Suddenly, at a turn in the road and a rise steeper than any before it, you reach a level plain, which seems to stretch away mile upon mile in every direction, and you look off upon farmhouses dotting the landscape, some red, some white and more brown and weather beaten. The doors and windows are flung open wide to admit the sunshine and the air, and the inmates are busy, some in the fields, some indoors, while others, in the early morning, when the whistle blew in the valley below, took their tin pails and hurried away to the great factory, whose chimney and roof and upper windows can be seen from the plateau. “This is The 4 Corners. Where will you get out and shall I wait for you?” Jehu asks, and as your errand is not to any particular place, you tell him to put you down by the steps of the little church, the first building you come to. “Fifty cents,” he says, when you ask his price, and you pay it with alacrity and think it cheap when you remember the hills you have come up and look at the moist state of the horse, panting under the elm tree, with his head low down. “Allus in a chronic tucker,” Jehu says, when you call his attention to the animal, and suggest that he must at some time have been overworked or he would not tire so easily. “Mebby so. Bought him of a pedlar,” he says. “But now he’s in clover. It’s the marster’s religion to be good to hosses. I b’lieve he’ll go ridin’ into Heaven behind the finest span on the road. None of your yanked up heads, with straight checks and cut-off tails for him. No, marm. He says the Lord made a hosses’ tail like a woman’s hair, for ornament, and to brush off the flies, and if a hoss wants to see what is goin’ on behind him he’s goin’ to let him have a chance to see. Henriet ain’t abused. She’s had nervous prostration and is kep’ for short runs, that’s all,” and with his shirt sleeve he wipes the white drops from the neck of the horse, who rubs against him with a little whinny which no horse gives except he is well cared for and content.