Having started out with the intention of passing Rochester, we were just obstinate enough to keep to the south.  The result was that for nearly the entire day the machine was laboring over the indifferent roads that usually lie just between two main travelled highways.  It was not until dusk that the gravelled turnpike leading into Avon was found, and it was after seven when we drew up in front of the small St. George Hotel.

The glory of Avon has departed.  Once it was a great resort, with hotels in size almost equal to those now at Saratoga.  The Springs were famous and people came from all parts of the country.  The hotels are gone, some burned, some destroyed, but old registers are preserved, and they bear the signatures of Webster, Clay, and many noted men of that generation.

The Springs are a mile or two away; the water is supposed to possess rare medicinal virtues, and invalids still come to test its potency, but there is no life, no gayety; the Springs and the village are quite forlorn.

At the St. George we found good rooms and a most excellent supper.  In the office after supper, with chairs tipped back and legs crossed, the older residents told many a tale of the palmy days of Avon when carriages filled the Square and the streets were gay with people in search of pleasure rather than health.

It was a quick run the next morning through Caledonia to Le Roy over roads hard and smooth as a floor.

Just out of Le Roy we met a woman, with a basket of eggs, driving a horse that seemed sobriety itself.  We drew off to one side and stopped the machine to let her pass.  The horse stopped, and unfortunately she gave a “yank” on one of the reins, turning the horse to one side; then a pull on the other rein, turning the horse sharply to the other side.  This was too much for the animal, and he kept on around, overturning the light buck-board and upsetting the woman, eggs, and all into the road.  The horse then kicked himself free and trotted off home.

The woman, fortunately, was not injured, but the eggs were, and she mournfully remarked they were not hers, and that she was taking them to market for a neighbor.  The wagon was slightly damaged.  Relieved to find the woman unhurt, the damage to wagon and eggs was more than made good; then we took the woman home in the automobile,—­her first ride.

It does not matter how little to blame one may be for a runaway; the fact remains that were it not for the presence of the automobile on the road the particular accident would not have occurred.  The fault may be altogether on the side of the inexperienced or careless driver, but none the less the driver of the automobile feels in a certain sense that he has been the immediate cause, and it is impossible to describe the feeling of relief one experiences when it turns out that no one is injured.

A machine could seldom meet a worse combination than a fairly spirited horse, a nervous woman, and a large basket of eggs.  With housewifely instincts, the woman was sure to think first of the eggs.