Abner scratched his head then winked at Benoni. “I went to buy somethin' for an individual who shall be nameless out of respect--” “Go on with your story,” shouted Strout. “You'd better hurry home with that sugar or the 'Master' may make it hot for you.” This remark caused a laugh at Abner's expense. “Jes' go ahead, Abner,” said Benoni, “we're all a-waitin'.” “Well, I met a feller on the train and he buzzed me all the way here. He wanted to know where I lived, an' when I told him I lived in Fernborough, that used to be a part of Eastborough, he jest piled me full of questions. I told him all I knew--” “An' added a little something” broke in Strout. “No, I jest stuck close to the truth. He wanted to know about Mr. Quincy Adams Sawyer. I told him he was dead, but he said he wanted to know about him when he lived here. Then I told him there was a man in town who could tell him more'n I could about that, an' I jest giv' him your name, Obadiah.” This sally turned the laugh on Strout who was about to make a sharp rejoinder, when the store door opened and a strong current of cold air caused all to turn. “Shut the door!” cried Bob Wood in his gruff voice. “I beg your pardon,” said the man, as he complied. He was very tall,--more than six feet in height. He was dressed in a suit of shiny black; his coat was buttoned tightly and the collar was turned up. The most noticeable part of his costume was a broad-brimmed straw hat. He wore no overcoat and his hands were ungloved. “Gentlemen, I must beg pardon for this intrusion, but I used to live in these parts many years ago, and I am here to inquire whether any of my family are awaiting the return of a long-lost relative.” Abner nudged Mr. Strout and said in a whisper: “That's the feller.” “What might your name be?” asked Mr. Benoni Hill in his genial manner. “I have occupied many stations in life, and whether high or low have always assumed a cognomen to match my position.” “A cog what?” asked Bill Cobb in a voice so low that he thought only his brother Jim could hear; but his question reached the stranger's ear. “By cognomen I mean a desirable _alias_ or a characteristic appellation.” This explanation gave rise to a chorus of “Oh's.” “Kerzactly,” remarked Benoni, and then all laughed. “When I left this town thirty years ago, my name was Richard Ricker. On returning to those paths which my childish feet so often trod--I have just come from the West Indies where the climate is hotter than that stove--it seems appropriate that I should assume my family name. It is done. I am now Richard Ricker.” Abner nudged Strout again, who resented it, but Mr. Stiles remarked in a whisper: “He's crazy--mad as a March hare.” Mr. Ricker did not hear his opinion of his sanity.