“That road,” said Molly, “looks as if it might be haunted by Claude Duval and his ilk; I suppose there are robbers among the mountains.”

[Illustration:  Ravine in Mount Adams, from Randolph hill.]

Fritz smiled.  “We find them at the hotels now and then, and they wear diamond studs generally,” he said.  “Our modern highwaymen do not haunt lonesome defiles and cry ‘Stand and Deliver.’  That style is obsolete; nor are there any romantic stories told of their dancing on the green with the victims they have plundered.  They are not gallant enough for that.”

“I don’t care,” declared Molly.  “I like the modern way best; besides we get our money’s worth Why! any one of these views is worth, oh,—­’ever so much,’ which includes hotel bills and all,” laughed the cynical Fritz.

At Wells River a very high bridge spans the Connecticut.  Here the waters of the tumbling Ammonoosuc, the wildest and most rapid stream in New Hampshire, joins the Connecticut in its journey to the sea.  The highlands of Bath repay attention as we journey northward.  Littleton is a thriving village, which controls the business of this section, and promises to be a northern metropolis.

A few miles from Littleton is Bethlehem, a regular mountain village, with an altitude higher than that of any other village east of the Mississippi.  This is one of the most charming resorts in the White Mountain region.  The long, main street of the town runs along the side of Mount Agassiz, and its elevation is such as to banish hay fever and all kindred complaints.

After we had dined, Fritz, Molly, and I, proceeded to investigate the place by carriage.  The day was warm, but Bethlehem has the luxury of admirably-shaded streets; and although tropic heat may flood the outer world, they lie temptingly cool beneath the great boughs; delightful breezes sweeping from the mountains, so that a ride is always enjoyable.  There are regulation drives, and there are other drives, for one can take a different route every day for a month, and each drive will seem to surpass the other.  In fact, the drives, walks, and woodland paths about this village, rival those of Central Park in New York City.  The hotels of the village are palatial, and compare favorably with the best in much older communities.  Their accommodations are fully appreciated by the army of health and pleasure seekers who annually visit them.

[Illustration:  View across the summit of the ravine.]

This village has lately been directly connected with the outside world by a narrow-gauge road, which runs parallel with the street and joins the main line at Bethlehem Junction.  In laying the track very little attention was paid to the grade, and the train follows the undulating surface.  The train after leaving the junction seems fairly to climb to the upper level.