CALLING THE FERRY Next morning, Sunday the 8th, we left the inn at eleven o'clock for Providence.

It was a perfect morning, neither hot nor cold, sun bright, and the air stirring.
We took the narrow road almost opposite the entrance to the inn, climbed the hill, threaded the woods, and were soon travelling almost due south through Framingham, Holliston, Medway, Franklin, and West Wrentham towards Pawtucket.
That route is direct, the roads are good, the country rolling and interesting.

The villages come in close succession; there are many quaint places and beautiful homes.
In this section of Massachusetts it does not matter much what roads are selected, they are all good.

Some are macadamized, more are gravelled, and where there is neither macadam nor gravel, the roads have been so carefully thrown up that they are good; we found no bad places at all, no deep sand, and no rough, hard blue clay.
When we stopped for luncheon at a little village not far from Pawtucket, the tire which had been put on in Boston was leaking badly.

It was the tire that had been punctured and sent to the factory for repairs, and the repair proved defective.