"By Jove!" cried Yates, springing off, "I had forgotten all about it,
which shows the extraordinary effect this country has on me already."
The professor frowned, but Yates came out merrily, with the jar in his
hand, and Bartlett started his team. They drove out of the village and
up a slight hill, going for a mile or two along a straight and somewhat
sandy road. Then they turned into the Ridge Road, as Bartlett called
it, in answer to a question by the professor, and there was no need to
ask why it was so termed. It was a good highway, but rather stony, the
road being, in places, on the bare rock. It paid not the slightest
attention to Euclid's definition of a straight line, and in this
respect was rather a welcome change from the average American road.
Sometimes they passed along avenues of overbranching trees, which were
evidently relics of the forest that once covered all the district. The
road followed the ridge, and on each side were frequently to be seen
wide vistas of lower lying country. All along the road were comfortable
farmhouses; and it was evident that a prosperous community flourished
along the ridge.

Bartlett spoke only once, and then to the professor, who sat next to
him.

"You a Canadian?"

"Yes."

"Where's _he_ from?"

"My friend is from New York," answered the innocent professor.