day, in the next summer, when
Euphemia and myself arrived at the little town where we were to take the
stage up into the mountains. We were off for a two weeks' vacation and
our minds were a good deal easier than when we went away before, and
left Pomona at the helm. We had enlarged the boundaries of Rudder
Grange, having purchased the house, with enough adjoining land to make
quite a respectable farm. Of course I could not attend to the manifold
duties on such a place, and my wife seldom had a happier thought than
when she proposed that we should invite Pomona and her husband to come
and live with us. Pomona was delighted, and Jonas was quite willing
to run our farm. So arrangements were made, and the young couple were
established in apartments in our back building, and went to work as if
taking care of us and our possessions was the ultimate object of their
lives. Jonas was such a steady fellow that we feared no trouble from
tree-man or lightning rodder during this absence.

Our destination was a country tavern on the stage-road, not far from the
point where the road crosses the ridge of the mountain-range, and about
sixteen miles from the town. We had heard of this tavern from a friend
of ours, who had spent a summer there. The surrounding country was
lovely, and the house was kept by a farmer, who was a good soul, and
tried to make his guests happy. These were generally passing farmers and
wagoners, or stage-passengers, stopping for a meal, but occasionally a
person from the cities, like our friend, came to spend a few weeks in
the mountains.

So hither we came, for an out-of-the-world spot like this was just what
we wanted. When I took our places at the stage-office, I inquired for
David Dutton, the farmer tavern-keeper before mentioned, but the agent
did not know of him.

"However," said he, "the driver knows everybody on the road, and he'll
set you down at the house."

So, off we started, having paid for our tickets on the basis that we
were to ride about sixteen miles. We had seats on top, and the trip,
although slow,--for the road wound uphill steadily,--was a delightful
one. Our way lay, for the greater part of the time, through the woods,
but now and then we came to a farm, and a turn in the road often gave us
lovely views of the foot-hills and the valleys behind us.

But the driver did not know where Dutton's tavern was. This we found out
after we had started. Some persons might have thought it wiser t