If I ever sat down to read for ten minutes
the cat would get into the custard. No woman in the country
sits down for fifteen consecutive minutes between sunrise and
sunset, anyway, unless she has half a dozen servants. And
nobody knows anything about literature unless he spends most
of his life sitting down. So there you are.
The cultivation of philosophic reflection was a new experience
for me. Peg ambled along contentedly and the dog trailed
under Parnassus where I had tied him. I read "_Vanity Fair_"
and thought about all sorts of things. Once I got out to pick
some scarlet maple leaves that attracted me. The motors
passing annoyed me with their dust and noise, but by and by
one of them stopped, looked at my outfit curiously, and then
asked to see some books. I put up the flaps for them and we
pulled off to one side of the road and had a good talk. They
bought two or three books, too.
By the time I neared Bath the hands of my watch pointed to
supper. I was still a bit shy of Mifflin's scheme of stopping
overnight at farmhouses, so I thought I'd go right into the
town and look for a hotel. The next day was Sunday, so it
seemed reasonable to give the horse a good rest and stay in
Bath two nights.
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