"Amiable lunatics" was the first comment of their countenances, and--"There never was any telling what the artistic temperament would do next!" Had we announced an air-ship voyage to the moon, they would have regarded us as comparatively reasonable, but to walk--_to walk_--some four or five hundred miles in America, of all countries, a country of palace cars and, lightning limited expresses, not to mention homicidal touring automobiles, seemed like--what shall I say ?--well, as though one should start out for New Zealand in a row-boat, or make the trip to St.Petersburg in a sedan-chair.
But there were others--especially the women--who understood, felt as we did, and longed to go with us.

I have never met a woman yet whose face did not light up at the thought of a walking tour, and in her heart long to don Rosalind clothes and set forth in search of adventures.

We thus had the advantage, in planning our route, of several prettily coiffed heads bending over our maps and guide-books with us.
"Four hundred and thirty miles," said one of these Rosalinds, whose pretty head was full of pictures of romantic European travel.

"Think what one could do with four hundred and thirty miles in Europe.

Let us try, for the fun of it." And turning to a map of Europe, and measuring out four hundred and thirty miles by scale on a slip of paper, she tried it up and down the map from point to point.