The eleventh of July. The little Berry house stood high on its joists and rollers, in the middle of the Hill Boulevard, directly opposite the Edwards lot. Close behind it loomed the big “Colonial.” Another twenty-four hours, and, even at its one-horse gait, the depot master's dwelling would be beyond the strip of Edwards fence. The “Colonial” would be ready to move on the lot, and Olive Edwards, the widow, would be obliged to leave her home. In fact, Mr. Williams had notified her that she and her few belongings must be off the premises by the afternoon of the twelfth.

The great Williams was in high good-humor. He chuckled as he talked with his foreman, and the foreman chuckled in return. Simeon Phinney did not chuckle. He was anxious and worried, and even the news of Gertie Higgins's runaway marriage, brought to him by Obed Gott, who—having been so recently the victim of another unexpected matrimonial alliance—was wickedly happy over the postmaster's discomfiture, did not interest him greatly.

“Well, I wonder who'll be the next couple,” speculated Obed. “First Polena and old Hardee, then Gertie Higgins and Sam Bartlett! I declare, Sim, gettin' married unbeknownst to anybody must be catchin', like the measles. Nobody's safe unless they've got a wife or husband livin'. Me and Sol Berry are old baches—we'd better get vaccinated or WE may come down with the disease. Ho! ho!”

After dinner Mr. Phinney went from his home to the depot. Captain Sol was sitting in the ticket office, with the door shut. On the platform, forlornly sprawled upon the baggage truck, was Issy McKay, the picture of desolation. He started nervously when he heard Simeon's step. As yet Issy's part in the Bartlett-Higgins episode was unknown to the townspeople. Sam and Gertie had considerately kept silence. Beriah had not learned who sent him the warning note, the unlucky missive which had brought his troubles to a climax. But he was bound to learn it, he would find out soon, and then—No wonder Issy groaned.

“Come in here, Sim,” said the depot master. Phinney entered the ticket office.

“Shut the door,” commanded the Captain. The order was obeyed. “Well, what is it?” asked Berry.

“Why, I just run in to see you a minute, Sol, that's all. What are you shut up in here all alone for?”

“'Cause I want to be alone. There's been more than a thousand folks in this depot so far to-day, seems so, and they all wanted to talk. I don't feel like talkin'.”

“Heard about Gertie Higgins and—”

“Yes.”

“Who told you?”

“Hiram Baker told me first. He's a fine feller and he's so tickled, now that his youngster's 'most well, that he cruises around spoutin' talk and joy same as a steamer's stack spouts cinders. He told me. Then Obed Gott and Cornelius Rowe and Redny Blount and Pat Starkey, and land knows how many more, came to tell me. I cut 'em short. Why, even the Major himself condescended to march in, grand and imposin' as a procession, to make proclamations about love laughin' at locksmiths, and so on. Since he got Polena and her bank account he's a bigger man than the President, in his own estimate.”

“Humph! Well, he better make the best of it while it lasts. P'lena ain't Hetty Green, and her money won't hold out forever.”

“That's a fact. Still Polena's got sense. She'll hold Hardee in check, I cal'late. I wouldn't wonder if it ended by her bossin' things and the Major actin' as a sort of pet poodle dog—nice and pretty to walk out with, but always kept at the end of a string.”

“You didn't go to Higgins's for dinner to-day, did you?”

“No. Nor I shan't go for supper. Beriah's bad enough when he's got nothin' the matter with him but dyspepsy. Now that his sufferin's are complicated with elopements, I don't want to eat with him.”

“Come and have supper with us.”

“I guess not, thank you, Sim. I'll get some crackers and cheese and such at the store. I—I ain't very hungry these days.”

He turned his head and looked out of the window. Simeon fidgeted.

“Sol,” he said, after a pause, “we'll be past Olive's by to-morrer night.”

No answer. Sim repeated his remark.

“I know it,” was the short reply.

“Yes—yes, I s'posed you did, but—”

“Sim, don't bother me now. This is my last day here at the depot, and I've got things to do.”

“Your last day? Why, what—?”

Captain Sol told briefly of his resignation and of the coming of the new depot master.

“But you givin' up your job!” gasped Phinney. “YOU! Why, what for?”

“For instance, I guess. I ain't dependent on the wages, and I'm sick of the whole thing.”

“But what'll you do?”

“Don't know.”

“You—you won't leave town, will you? Lawsy mercy, I hope not!”

“Don't know. Maybe I'll know better by and by. I've got to think things out. Run along now, like a good feller. Don't say nothin' about my quittin'. All hands'll know it to-morrow, and that's soon enough.”

Simeon departed, his brain in a whirl. Captain Solomon Berry no longer depot master! The world must be coming to an end.

He remained at his work until supper time. During the meal he ate and said so little that his wife wondered and asked questions. To avoid answering them he hurried out. When he returned, about ten o'clock, he was a changed man. His eyes shone and he fairly danced with excitement.

“Emeline!” he shouted, as he burst into the sitting room. “What do you think? I've got the everlastin'est news to tell!”

“Good or bad?” asked the practical Mrs. Phinney.

“Good! So good that—There! let me tell you. When I left here I went down to the store and hung around till the mail was sorted. Pat Starkey was doin' the sortin', Beriah bein' too upsot by Gertie's gettin' married to attend to anything. Pat called me to the mail window and handed me a letter.

“'It's for Olive Edwards,' he says. 'She's been expectin' one for a consider'ble spell, she told me, and maybe this is it. P'r'aps you'd just as soon go round by her shop and leave it.'

“I took the letter and looked at it. Up in one corner was the printed name of an Omaha firm. I never said nothin', but I sartinly hustled on my way up the hill.

“Olive was in her little settin' room back of the shop. She was pretty pale, and her eyes looked as if she hadn't been doin' much sleepin' lately. Likewise I noticed—and it give me a queer feelin' inside—that her trunk was standin', partly packed, in the corner.”

“The poor woman!” exclaimed Mrs. Phinney.

“Yes,” went on her husband. “Well, I handed over the letter and started to go, but she told me to set down and rest, 'cause I was so out of breath. To tell you the truth, I was crazy to find out what was in that envelope and, being as she'd give me the excuse, I set.

“She took the letter over to the lamp and looked at it for much as a minute, as if she was afraid to open it. But at last, and with her fingers shakin' like the palsy, she fetched a long breath and tore off the end of the envelope. It was a pretty long letter, and she read it through. I see her face gettin' whiter and whiter and, when she reached the bottom of the last page, the letter fell onto the floor. Down went her head on her arms, and she cried as if her heart would break. I never felt so sorry for anybody in my life.

“'Don't, Mrs. Edwards,' I says. 'Please don't. That cousin of yours is a darn ungrateful scamp, and I'd like to have my claws on his neck this minute.'

“She never even asked me how I knew about the cousin. She was too much upset for that.

“'Oh! oh!' she sobs. 'What SHALL I do? Where shall I go? I haven't got a friend in the world!'

“I couldn't stand that. I went acrost and laid my hand on her shoulder.

“'Mrs. Edwards,' says I, 'you mustn't say that. You've got lots of friends. I'm your friend. Mr. Hilton's your friend. Yes, and there's another, the best friend of all. If it weren't for him, you'd have been turned out into the street long before this.'”

Mrs. Phinney nodded. “I'm glad you told her!” she exclaimed. “She'd ought to know.”

“That's what I thought,” said Simeon.

“Well, she raised her head then and looked at me.

“'You mean Mr. Williams?' she asks.

“That riled me up. 'Williams nothin'!' says I. 'Williams let you stay here 'cause he could just as well as not. If he'd known that this other friend was keepin' him from gettin' here, just on your account, he'd have chucked you to glory, promise or no promise. But this friend, this real friend, he don't count cost, nor trouble, nor inconvenience. Hikes his house—the house he lives in—right out into the road, moves it to a place where he don't want to go, and—'

“'Mr. Phinney,' she sighs out, 'what do you mean?'

“And then I told her. She listened without sayin' a word, but her eyes kept gettin' brighter and brighter and she breathed short.

“'Oh!' she says, when I'd finished. 'Did he—did he—do that for ME?'

“'You bet!' says I. 'He didn't tell me what he was doin' it for—that ain't Sol's style; but I'm arithmetiker enough to put two and two together and make four. He did it for you, you can bet your last red on that.'

“She stood up. 'Oh!' she breathes. 'I—I must go and thank him. I—'

“But, knowin' Sol, I was afraid. Fust place, there was no tellin' how he'd act, and, besides, he might not take it kindly that I'd told her.

“'Wait a jiffy,' I says. 'I'll go out and see if he's home. You stay here. I'll be back right off.'

“Out I put, and over to the Berry house, standin' on its rollers in the middle of the Boulevard. And, just as I got to it, somebody says:

“'Ahoy, Sim! What's the hurry? Anybody on fire?'

“'Twas the Cap'n himself, settin' on a pile of movin' joist and smokin' as usual. I didn't waste no time.

“'Sol,' says I, 'I've just come from Olive's. She's got that letter from the Omaha man. Poor thing! all alone there—'

“He interrupted me sharp. 'Well?' he snaps. 'What's it say? Will the cousin help her?'

“'No,' I says, 'drat him, he won't!'

“The answer I got surprised me more'n anything I ever heard or ever will hear.

“'Thank God!' says Sol Berry. 'That settles it.'

“And I swan to man if he didn't climb down off them timbers and march straight across the street, over to the door of Olive Edwards's home, open it, and go in! I leaned against the joist he'd left, and swabbed my forehead with my sleeve.”

“He went to HER!” gasped Mrs. Phinney.

“Wait,” continued her husband. “I must have stood there twenty minutes when I heard somebody hurryin' down the Boulevard. 'Twas Cornelius Rowe, all red-faced and het up, but bu'stin' with news.

“''Lo, Sim!' says he to me. 'Is Cap'n Sol home? Does he know?'

“'Know? Know what?” says I.

“'Why, the trick Mr. Williams put up on him? Hey? You ain't heard? Well, Mr. Williams's fixed him nice, HE has! Seems Abner Payne hadn't answered Sol's letter tellin' him he'd accept the offer to swap lots, and Williams went up to Wareham where Payne's been stayin' and offered him a thumpin' price for the land on Main Street, and took it. The deed's all made out. Cap'n Sol can't move where he was goin' to, and he's left with his house on the town, as you might say. Ain't it a joke, though? Where is Sol? I want to be the fust to tell him and see how he acts. Is he to home?'

“I was shook pretty nigh to pieces, but I had some sense left.

“'No, he ain't,' says I. 'I see him go up street a spell ago.'”

“Why, Simeon!” interrupted Mrs. Phinney once more. “Was that true? How COULD you see him when—”

“Be still! S'pose I was goin' to tell him where Sol HAD gone? I'd have lied myself blue fust. However, Cornelius was satisfied.

“'That so?' he grunts. 'By jings! I'm goin' to find him.'

“Off he went, and the next thing I knew the Edwards door opened, and I heard somebody callin' my name. I went acrost, walkin' in a kind of daze, and there, in the doorway, with the lamp shinin' on 'em, was Cap'n Sol and Olive. The tears was wet on her cheeks, but she was smilin' in a kind of shy, half-believin' sort of way, and as for Sol, he was one broad, satisfied grin.

“'Cap'n,' I begun, 'I just heard the everlastin'est news that—'

“'Shut up, Sim!' he orders, cheerful. 'You've been a mighty good friend to both of us, and I want you to be the fust to shake hands.'

“'Shake hands?' I stammers, lookin' at 'em. 'WHAT? You don't mean—'

“'I mean shake hands. Don't you want to?'

“Want to! I give 'em both one more look, and then we shook, up to the elbows; and my grin had the Cap'n's beat holler.

“'Sim,' he says, after I'd cackled a few minutes, 'I cal'late maybe that white horse is well by this time. P'r'aps we might move a little faster. I'm kind of anxious to get to Main Street.'

“Then I remembered. 'Great gosh all fish-hooks!' I sings out. 'Main Street? Why, there AIN'T no Main Street!'

“And I gives 'em Cornelius's news. The widow's smile faded out.

“'Oh!' says she. 'O Solomon! And I got you into all this trouble!'

“Cap'n Sol didn't stop grinnin', but he scratched his head. 'Huh!' says he. 'Mark one up for King Williams the Great. Humph!'

“He thought for a minute and then he laughed out loud. 'Olive,' he says, 'if I remember right, you and I always figgered to live on the Shore Road. It's the best site in town. Sim, I guess if that white horse IS well, you can move that shanty of mine right to Cross Street, down that, and back along the Shore Road to the place where it come from. THAT land's mine yet,' says he.

“If that wa'n't him all over! I couldn't think what to say, except that folks would laugh some, I cal'lated.

“'Not at us, they won't,' says he. 'We'll clear out till the laughin' is over. Olive, to-morrer mornin' we'll call on Parson Hilton and then take the ten o'clock train. I feel's if a trip to Washin'ton would be about right just now.'

“She started and blushed and then looked up into his face. 'Solomon,' she says, low, 'I really would like to go to Niagara.'

“He shook his head. 'Old lady,' says he, 'I guess you don't quite understand this thing. See here'—p'intin' to his house loomin' big and black in the roadway—'see! the mountain has come to Mahomet.'”

Mrs. Phinney had heard enough. She sprang from her chair and seized her husband's hands.

“Splendid!” she cried, her face beaming. “Oh, AIN'T it lovely! Ain't you glad for 'em, Simeon?”

“Glad! Say, Emeline; there's some of that wild-cherry bounce down cellar, ain't there? Let's break our teetotalism for once and drink a glass to Cap'n and Mrs. Solomon Berry. Jerushy! I got to do SOMETHIN' to celebrate.”

On the Hill Boulevard the summer wind stirred the silverleaf poplars. The thick, black shadows along the sidewalks were heavy with the perfume of flowers. Captain Sol, ex-depot master of East Harniss, strolled on in the dark, under the stars, his hands in his pockets, and in his heart happiness complete and absolute.

Behind him twinkled the lamp in the window of the Edwards house, so soon to be torn down. Before him, over the barberry hedge, blazed the windows of the mansion the owner of which was responsible for it all. The windows were open, and through them sounded the voices of the mighty Ogden Hapworth Williams and his wife, engaged in a lively altercation. It was an open secret that their married life was anything but peaceful.

“What are you grumbling about now?” demanded 'Williams. “Don't I give you more money than—”

“Nonsense!” sneered Mrs. Williams, in scornful derision. “Nonsense, I say! Money is all there is to you, Ogden. In other things, the real things of this world, those you can't buy with money, you're a perfect imbecile. You know nothing whatever about them.”

Captain Sol, alone on the walk by the hedge, glanced in the direction of the shrill voice, then back at the lamp in Olive's window. And he laughed aloud.