Our New Neighbors at Ponkapog

When I saw the little house building, an eighth of a mile beyond my own, / on the Old Bay Road, I wondered who were to be the tenants. The modest / structure was set well back from the road, among the trees, as if / the inmates were to care nothing whatever for a view of the stylish / equipages which sweep by during the summer season. For my part, I / like to see the passing, in town or country; but each has his own / unaccountable taste. The proprietor, who seemed to be also the architect / of the new house, superintended the various details of the work with an / assiduity that gave me a high opinion of his intelligence and executive / ability, and I congratulated myself on the prospect of having some very / agreeable neighbors.

It was quite early in the spring, if I remember, when they moved into / the cottage -- a newly married couple, evidently: the wife very young, / pretty, and with the air of a lady; the husband somewhat older, but / still in the first flush of manhood. It was understood in the village / that they came from Baltimore; but no one knew them personally, and they / brought no letters of introduction. (For obvious reasons I refrain from / mentioning names.) It was clear that, for the present at least, their / own company was entirely sufficient for them. They made no advances / toward the acquaintance of any of the families in the neighborhood, and / consequently were left to themselves. That, apparently, was what they / desired, and why they came to Ponkapog. For after its black bass and / wild duck and teal, solitude is the chief staple of Ponkapog. Perhaps / its perfect rural loveliness should be included. Lying high up under the / wing of the Blue Hills, and in the odorous breath of pines and cedars, / it chances to be the most enchanting bit of unlaced dishevelled country / within fifty miles of Boston, which, moreover, can be reached in half / an hour's ride by railway. But the nearest railway station (Heaven be / praised! ) is two miles distant, and the seclusion is without a flaw. / Ponkapog has one mail a day; two mails a day would render the place / uninhabitable.