It was Sylvanus who, confined to the house by an illness brought on by eating too much “sugar cake” at a free sociable given by the Methodist Society, arose in the night and drank copiously of what he supposed to be the medicine left by the doctor. It happened to be water-bug poison, and Sylvanus was nearly killed by the dose. He is reported as having admitted that he “didn't mind dyin' so much, but hated to die such a dum mean death.” While convalescent he took to smoking in bed and was burned out of house and home in consequence. Then it was that his kind-hearted fellow citizens donated, for the furnishing of his new residence, all the cast-off bits of furniture and odds and ends from their garrets. “Charity,” observed Captain Josiah Dimick at the time, “begins at home with us Bayporters, and it generally begins up attic, that bein' nighest to heaven.” Later Sylvanus sold most of the donations as “antiques” and made money enough therefrom to buy a new plush parlor set. Miss Angeline Phinney never called on the Cahoons after that without making her appearance at the front door. “I'll get some good out of that plush sofy I helped to pay for,” declared Angeline, “if it's only to wear it out by settin' on it.” There are two “antiques” in Bayport which have not yet been sold or even bid for. One is Gabe Lumley's “depot wagon,” and the other is “Dan'l Webster,” the horse which draws it. Both are very ancient, sadly in need of upholstery, and jerky of locomotion. Gabe was, as usual, waiting at the station when the down train arrived, on the Tuesday--or Wednesday--of the selectmen's meeting. The train was due, according to the time-table, at eleven forty-five. This time-table, and the signboard of the “Bayport Hotel” are the only bits of humorous literature peculiar to our village, unless we add the political editorials of the Bayport Breeze. So, at eleven forty-five, Mr. Lumley was serenely dozing on the baggage truck, which he had wheeled to the sunny side of the platform. At five minutes past twelve, he yawned, stretched, and looked at his watch. Then, rolling off the truck, he strolled to the edge of the platform and spoke authoritatively to “Dan'l Webster.” “Hi there! stand still!” commanded Mr. Lumley. Standing still being Dan'l's long suit, the order was obeyed. Gabe then loafed to the door of the station and accosted the depot master, who was nodding in his chair beside the telegraph instrument. “Where is she now, Ed?” asked Mr. Lumley, referring to the train. “Just left South Harniss. Be here pretty soon. What's your hurry? Expectin' anybody?” “Naw; nobody that I know of, special. Sophrony Hallett's gone to Ostable, but she won't be back till to-morrow I cal'late. Hello! there she whistles now.”