“In three weeks,” was my reply, as I bounded into the buggy, which soon moved away. Pine Hill is not all remarkable for its beautiful scenery, and as old Sorrel trotted leisurely along, down one steep hill and up another, through a _haunted_ swamp, where a man had once, to his great terror, seen his departed wife, and over a piece of road, where the little grassy ridges said, as plain as grassy ridges could say, that the travellers there were few and far between, my spirits lowered a little. But, anon, the prospect brightened, and in the distance we saw the white walls of Capt. Thompson’s residence gleaming through the mass of evergreens which surrounded it. This, however, soon disappeared, and for a mile or more my eye met with nothing save white birches, grey rocks, green ferns, and blackberry bushes, until suddenly turning a corner, we came to a halt before one of those slanting-roofed houses so common in New England. It was the home of Mr. Randall, and it was there that I was to board the first week. In the doorway, eating bread and molasses, were his three children who, the moment they saw us, set up a shout of “somebody’s come. I guess it’s the schoolma’am!” and straightway they took to their heels as if fleeing from the presence of a tigress. After a moment, the largest of them ventured to return, and his example was soon followed by the other two, the younger of whom, after eyeing me askance, lisped out, “Don Thompthon thays he ain’t afraid of you; he can lick you like _dunder_!” This was a pleasant commencement, but I smiled down upon the little boy, patting his curly head, while father inquired for Mrs. Randall, who, we learned, was sweeping the schoolhouse. Leaving the hair trunk, which was used by the children for a horse ere we left the yard, we again set forward, and soon reached our place of destination, which, without shade-tree or ornament of any kind, stood half-way up a long, sunny hill, commanding a view of nothing save the weathercock of Captain Thompson’s barn, which was visible across the orchard opposite. We found Mrs. Randall enveloped in a cloud of dust, her sleeves rolled up, and her head covered by a black silk handkerchief. “The room wasn’t fit for the pigs,” she said, “and ought to have been cleaned, but somehow nobody took any interest in school this summer, and I’d have to make it answer.”