eams were on the road, and in the younger man's time shipments were made to New Hampshire and Maine.
The local teams had regular routes and customers, and the baker's wagon's coming was heralded by the jingling of sleigh bells worn by the horses the year round.
Many of the grown-ups of Medford will recall their weekly errand to the old bakery for baker's yeast, and the big tub brought into the shop and ladled out by the cent's worth to the waiting crowd.
Mr. Withington sold out to Ewen McPherson in 1885, and he later to Mr. Barker, who some years ago gave up the business, since which time little or nothing has been done there, the last occupants of the shop being the Order of Moose, whatever that may be. The dwelling was occupied until the last, the occupants only removing after the wrecking force had begun operations.
The old bakery in its palmy days was the real thing.
It may not seem so to the observer, whose gauge mark is the Sunshine, or the Thousand Windows, but in the