grand stand, and just beyond, at some distance from each other, what
appear to the uninitiated to be two gallows. Farther on rises a gentle
hill, crowned with massive elms, from among which tower the tops of a
number of picturesque red-brick buildings.

Then the train hurries on again, under the shadow of Mount Adam, where
in the deep maple woods the squirrels leap all day among the tree tops
and where the sunlight strives year after year to find its way through
the thick shade, and once more the river is beside you, the train is
speeding due north again, and you have, perhaps without knowing it,
caught a glimpse of Hillton Academy.

From the little stone station a queer old coach rumbles away down a wide
country road. It carries the mail and the village supplies and, less
often, a traveler; and the driver, "Old Joe" Pike, has grown gray
between the station and the Eagle Tavern. If, instead of going on to the
north, you had descended from the train, and had mounted to the seat
beside "Old Joe," you would have made the acquaintance of a very worthy
member of Hillton society, and, besides, have received a deal of
information as the two stout grays trotted along.

"Yes, that's the 'Cademy up there among them trees, That buildin' with
the tower's the 'Cademy Buildin', and the squatty one that you can just
see is one of the halls--Masters they call it, after the man that
founded the school. The big, new buildin' is another of 'em, Warren; and
Turner's beyond it; and if you look right sharp you can see Bradley Hall
to the left there.

"Here's where we turn. Just keep your foot on that mail-bag, if you
please, sir. There's the village, over yonder to the right. Kind of high