The load was actually fourteen feet high, yet far from heavy;
witches' brooms are dry and light. A northwest wind, blowing in heavy
gusts behind us, fairly pushed us along the road. We got on fast, baited
our team at New Gloucester at one o'clock in the afternoon, and by dusk
had reached Welch's Tavern, eleven miles out of Portland.
Here we put up for the night; as our load was too bulky to draw into the
barn, we were obliged to leave it in the yard outside, near the garden
fence--fifty yards, perhaps, from the tavern piazza.
We had supper and were about to go to bed, when in came three fellows
who had driven up from the city, on their way to hunt moose in
Batchelder's Grant. All three were in a hilarious mood; they called for
supper, and said that they meant to drive on to Ricker's Tavern, at the
Poland Spring.
There was a lively fire on the hearth, for the night was cold and windy;
the newcomers stood in front of it--while Addison and I sat back,
looking on. The cause of their boisterousness was quite apparent; they
were plentifully supplied with whiskey. Then, as now, the "Maine law"
prohibited the sale of intoxicants; but this happened to be one of the
numerous periods when the authorities were lax in enforcing the law.
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