At the time of the incidents to be narrated, the northern and eastern part of Newbury had a considerable population.  It was traversed by a highway leading west through its centre to Cleveland, and by a stage-road leading from Painesville to the Ohio river, through its eastern part.  This was called the “State road,” and on it stood Parker’s Hotel, a stage-house much frequented, and constituting the centre of a little village, while further south was the extensive trading establishment of Markham & Co., using the name and some of the capital of the Judge, and managed mainly by Roberts and another junior.  Judge Markham’s spacious and elegant dwelling stood about half a mile south of the store.

The south-western part of the township, with much of two adjoining townships, remained an unbroken forest, belonging to an eccentric landholder who refused to sell it.  This was spoken of as “the woods,” and furnished cover and haunts for wild game and animals, hunting-ground for the pioneers, and also gave shelter to a few shiftless squatters, in various parts of its wide expanse.  In the eastern border of the township was Punderson’s pond, a beautiful, irregular-shaped body of limpid water, embosomed by deep wooded hills, and of considerable extent, well stocked with fish, and much frequented on that account.

In the afternoon of the second day after his return, Bart went down a highway leading east to the State road, to the post-office, kept at Markham’s store, and this road took him down by the southern end of the pond, and thence southerly on the State road.  He passed along by Dr. Lyman’s, Jonah Johnson’s, and so on, past houses, and clearings, and woodlands, looking almost wistfully, as if he expected pleasant greetings; but the few he saw merely nodded to him, or called out:  “Are you back again?” He paused on the hill by the saw-mill, which overlooked the pond, and gazed long over its beautiful surface, sleeping in utter solitude amid the green hills, under the slanting summer sun, and seemed to recognize in it what he had observed, on the evening of his return, about the old homestead—­the change that had taken place in himself—­a change which often accounts for the strange appearance of the most familiar and cherished places.  We find it reflected in the face of inanimate nature, and wonder at her altered guise, unconscious of the cause.  He sauntered musingly on to the State road, and over by the old grist-mill, past several houses, up to Parker’s.  Here, by a beautiful spring under the shade of old apple and cherry-trees, near the carriage-way, was an indolent group of afternoon idlers.  Conspicuous among them was the dark and striking face of Dr. Lyman, the rich mahogany of Uncle Josh, and the homely, shrewd, and fresh-colored countenance of Jonah Johnson.  Bart could not avoid them if he would; and regretted that he had not gone across the woods to the post-office, and so escaped them.

“Well, young Scholasticus,” said the Doctor, after the slight greetings had been given to the new-comer, “you seem to have graduated with great rapidity.  You went through college like—­”