The scene opens at a little wayside village among the mountains of Pennsylvania. A very little village it was, with the usual blacksmith shop sending forth the musical jingle and clang of hammer and anvil, and the usual general store, keeping for sale or exchange the usual stock of everything from medicine to hardware, and from books to boots and shoes, not to mention such little matters as stoves and farm tools. In front of this establishment was the usual oaken railing, supported by stout oaken posts, and used for the double purpose of hitching horses and furnishing a comfortable seat for the village loafers. A little farther down the road, and on the opposite side, there stood the usual village tavern, with its ample stoop or veranda, littered with the usual number of stools and chairs in the usual state of dilapidation. This was about all there was of the little village, and one might have sat on the tavern stoop, where the fat, sleepy-looking host was sitting now, and look in vain for more. He, however, did not appear to be looking for more, or, in fact, for anything: for he sat and smoked, and stared placidly around him, where everything was flooded with the yellow sunshine, and where a few flies and other insects--adventurous fellows, who had ventured out of their winter’s nap rather earlier than usual--now buzzed languidly around him, as if they were hardly decided if it was worth their while to remain awake. Beyond this there was nothing to see but the mountain road that wound in and out and around all obstructions, and stretched out in the distance like a very dirty ribbon--only this, and the low-lying mountain in front of him, and a hazy view of higher ones beyond. It was all calm and slumberous, and mine host had sat placidly smoking his after-dinner pipe for some time without interruption--not that the interruption appeared to disturb him any when it did come, for he had been spoken to several times from the interior of the house without deigning a reply--when he was joined by a tall, fine-appearing young man, whom he addressed briefly with “Mornin’.” “Good morning,” replied the young man civilly, though it was afternoon. “How far do you call it to the nearest town, landlord?” “Well, sir. I calls thet diffrunt ’cordin’ to ther way you goes. Ef you goes round by th’ road, it’s a good, fair twenty-eight miles; but ef you goes over th’ mounting, it’s a mighty scant fifteen miles.”