米尔维尔是个偏远的小村，村里零星分布着几家小店，由于交通不便，外面的人很少翻山越岭去那儿。那里的人过着简朴的生活，文化落后了近半个世纪。当约翰叔叔买下农场，并寄给代理商500元的打理费用的消息传进村镇时，村子里的人都按捺不住激动的心情…… Millville is rather dif？cult to locate on the map，for the rail—roads found it impossible to run a line there，Chazy Junction，the nearest station，is several miles away，and the wagon road ascends the foothills every step of the distance.Finally you pass between Mount Parnassus （whoever named it that？）and Little Bill Hill and ？nd yourself on an almost level plateau some four miles in diameter，with a placida lake in the center and a fringe of tall pines around the edge.At the South，where tower the northern sentries of the Adirondacks，a stream called Little Bill Creek comes splashing and dashing over the rocks to force its way noisily into the lake.When it emerges again it is humble and sedateb，and ？ows smoothly to Hooker's Falls，from whence it soon joins a tributaryc that leads it to far away Champlain.
Millville is built where the Little Bill rushes into the lake.The old mill，with its race and sluice—gates，still grinds wearily the scantyd dole of grain fed into its hoppers and Silas Caldwell takes his toll and earns his modest living just as his father did before him and "Little Bill"Thompson did before him.
Above the mill a r i c k e t ye wooden bridge spans the stream，for here the highway from Chary Junction reaches the village of Millville and passes the wooden structures grouped on either side its main street on the way to Thompson'sCrossing，nine miles farther along.The town boasts exactly eleven buildings，not counting the mill，which，being on the other side of the Little Bill，can hardly be called a part of Millville proper.Cotting's Store contains the postoffice and telephone booth，and is naturally the central point of interest.Seth Davis'blacksmith shop comes next；Widow Clark's Emporium for the sale of candy，stationery and cigars adjoins that；McNutt's of？ce and dwelling combined is next，and then Thorne's Livery and Feed Stables.You must understand they are not set close together，but each has a little ground of its own.On the other side of the street is the hardware store，with farm machinery occupying the broad platform before it，and then the Millville House，a two—storied "hotel"with a shed—like wing for the billiard—room and card tables.Nib Corkins'drug store，jewelry store and music store combined （with sewing machines for a "side line"），is the last of the "business establishmentsa，"and the other three buildings are dwellings occupied by Sam Cotting，Seth Davis and Nick Thorne.
Dick Pearson's farm house is scarcely a quarter of a mile up the highway，but it isn't in Millville，for all thatb.There's a cross lane just beyond Pearson's，leading east and west，and a mile to westward is the Wegg Farm，in the wildest part of the foothills.
It is a poor farming country around Millville.Strangers often wonder how the little shops of the town earn a living fortheir proprietors；but it doesn't require a great deal to enable these simple folk to live.The tourist seldom penetrates these inaccessible foothills；the roads are too rough and primitive for automobiles；so Millville is shamefully neglected，and civilization halted there some half a century ago.
However，there was a genuine sensationa in store forthis isolated hamletb，and it was the more welcome because anything in the way of a sensation had for many years avoided the neighborhood.
Marshall McMahon McNutt，or，as he was more familiarlycalled by those few who respected him most highly，"Marsh"McNutt （and sundry other appellations by those who respected him not at all），became the recipient of a letter from New York announcing the intention of a certain John Merrick，the new owner of the Wegg Farm，to spend the summer on the place.McNutt was an undersized man of about forty，with a beardless face，scragglyc buff—colored hair，and eyes that were big，light blue and remarkably protrudingd.The stare of those eyes was impenetrable，because observers found it embarrassing to look at them."Mac's"friends had a trick of looking away when they spoke to him，but children gazed fascinated at the expressionless blue eyeballs and regarded their owner with awe.
The "real estate agent"was considered an enterprising man by his neighbors and a "poor sticka"by his wife.He had gone to school at Thompson's Crossing in his younger days；had a call to preach，but failed because he "couldn't get religion"；inherited a farm from his uncle and married Sam Cotting's sister，whose tongue and temper were so sharp that everyone marveled at the man's temerityb in acquiring them.Finally he had lost one foot in a mowing machine，and the accident destroyed his further usefulness to the extent of inducing him to abandon the farm and move into town.Here he endeavored to ？nd something to do to eke outc his meagred income；so he raised "thoroughbrede Plymouth Rocks，"selling eggs for hatching to the farmers；doctored sick horses and pastured them in the lot back of his barn，the rear end of which was devoted to "watermelons in season"；sold subion books to farmers who came to the mill or the village store；was elected "road commissioner"and bossed the neighbors when they had to work out their poll—tax，and turned his hand to any other affairs that offered a penny's recompensef.The "real estate business"was what Seth Davis labeled "a blobbering bluff，"for no property had changed hands in the neighborhood in a score of years，except the lot back of themill，which was traded for a yoke of oxen，and the Wegg farm，which had been sold without the agent's knowledge or consent.
The only surprising thing about the sale of the Wegg farm was that anyone would buy it.Captain Wegg had died three years before，and his son Joe wandered south toAlbany，worked his way through a technical school and thendisappeared in the mazes of New York.So the homestead seemed abandoned altogether，except for the Huckses.
