CHAPTER VI.
HOLLIS FARM Clayton was an easy-going, prosperous old town which, in the enthusiasm of youth, had started to climb the long hill to the north, but growing indolent with age, had decided instead to go around.
Main street, broad and shady under an unbroken arch of maple boughs, was flanked on each side by "Back street," the generic term applied to all the parallel streets.

The short cross-streets were designated by the most direct method: "the street by the Baptist church," "the street by Dr.Fenton's," "the street going out to Judge Hollis's," or "the street where Mr.Moseley used to live." In the heart of the town was the square, with the gray, weather-beaten court-house, the new and formidable jail, the post-office and church.
For twenty years Dr.Fenton's old high-seated buggy had jogged over the same daily course.

It started at nine o'clock and passed with never-varying regularity up one street and down another.

When any one was ill a sentinel was placed at the gate to hail the doctor, who was as sure to pass as the passenger-train.

It was a familiar joke in Clayton that the buggy had a regular track, and that the wheels always ran in the same rut.