“Bailey Bangs,” she began, “when I was brought to realize that my husband, although apparently an able-bodied man, couldn't support me as I'd been used to be supported, and when I was forced to support HIM by keepin' boarders, I says, 'If there's one thing that my house shall stand for it's punctual promptness at meal times. I say nothing,' I says, 'about the inconvenience of gettin' on with only one hired help when we ought to have three. If Providence, in its unscrutable wisdom,' I says, 'has seen fit to lay this burden onto me, the burden of a household of boarders and a husband whom--'” And just then the power referred to by Mrs. Bangs intervened to spare her husband the remainder of the preachment. From the driveway of the yard, beside the dining-room windows, came the rattle of wheels and the tramp of a horse's feet. Mrs. Matilda Tripp, who sat nearest the windows, on that side, rose and peered out. “It's the depot wagon, Ketury,” she said. “There's somebody inside it. I wonder if they're comin' here.” “Transients” were almost unknown quantities at the Bayport Hotel in May. Consequently, all the boarders and the landlady herself crowded to the windows. The “depot wagon” had drawn up by the steps, and Gabe Lumley, the driver, had descended from his seat and was doing his best to open the door of the ancient vehicle. It stuck, of course; the doors of all depot wagons stick. “Hold on a shake!” commanded some one inside the carriage. “Wait till I get a purchase on her. Now, then! All hands to the ropes! Heave--ho! THERE she comes!” The door flew back with a bang. A man sprang out upon the lower step of the porch. The eye of every inmate of the perfect boarding house was on him. Even the “hired help” peered from the kitchen door. “He's a stranger,” whispered Mrs. Tripp. “I never see him before, did you, Mr. Tidditt?” The town clerk did not answer. He was staring at the depot wagon's passenger, staring with a face the interested expression of which was changing to that of surprise and amazed incredulity. Mrs. Tripp turned to Mr. Bangs; he also was staring, open-mouthed. “Godfrey scissors!” gasped Asaph, under his breath. “Godfrey--SCISSORS! Bailey, I--I believe--I swan to man, I believe--” “Ase Tidditt!” exclaimed Mr. Bangs, “am I goin' looney, or is that--is that--” Neither finished his sentence. There are times when language seems so pitifully inadequate. CHAPTER II THE WANDERER'S RETURN Here in Bayport, nowadays, the collecting of “antiques” is a favorite amusement of our summer visitors. Those of us who were fortunate enough to possess a set of nicked blue dishes, a warming pan, or a tall clock with wooden wheels, have long ago parted with these treasures for considerable sums. Oddly enough Sylvanus Cahoon has profited most by this craze. Sylvanus used to be judged the unluckiest man in town; of late this judgment has been revised.