And so it happened that on the morning of the Fourth of July, Dusenberry's birthday, Captain Hiram Baker and his wife sat together in the sitting room, with very happy faces. The Captain had in his hands the “truly boat with sails,” which the little first mate had so ardently wished for. She was a wonder, that boat. Red hull, real lead on the keel, brass rings on the masts, reef points on the main and fore sail, jib, flying jib and topsails, all complete. And on the stern was the name, “Dusenberry. East Harniss.” Captain Hiram set her down in front of him on the floor. “Gee!” he exclaimed, “won't his eyes stick out when he sees that rig, hey? Wisht he would be well enough to see it to-day, same as we planned.” “Well, Hiram,” said Sophrony, “we hadn't ought to complain. We'd ought to be thankful he's goin' to get well at all. Dr. Morgan says, thanks to that blessed toxing stuff, he'll be up and around in a couple of weeks.” “Sophrony,” said her husband, “we'll have a special birthday celebration for him when he gets all well. You can bake the frosted cake and we'll have some of the other children in. I TOLD you God wouldn't be cruel enough to take him away.” And this is how Fate and the medical profession and the O. C. and C. C. Railroad combined to give little Hiram Joash Baker his birthday, and explains why, as he strolled down Main Street that afternoon, Captain Hiram was heard to sing heartily: Haul on the bowline, the 'Phrony is a-rollin', Haul on the bowline, the bowline, HAUL! CHAPTER XIV EFFIE'S FATE Surely, but very, very slowly, the little Berry house moved on its rollers up the Hill Boulevard. Right at its heels--if a house may be said to have heels--came the “pure Colonial,” under the guidance of the foreman with “progressive methods.” Groups of idlers, male and female, stood about and commented. Simeon Phinney smilingly replied to their questions. Captain Sol himself seemed little interested. He spent most of his daylight time at the depot, only going to the Higginses' house for his meals. At night, after the station was closed, he sought his own dwelling, climbed over the joist and rollers, entered, retired to his room, and went to bed. Each day also he grew more taciturn. Even with Simeon, his particular friend, he talked little. “What IS the matter with you, Sol?” asked Mr. Phinney. “You're as glum as a tongue-tied parrot. Ain't you satisfied with the way I'm doin' your movin'? The white horse can go back again if you say so.” “I'm satisfied,” grunted the depot master. “Let you know when I've got any fault to find. How soon will you get abreast the--abreast the Seabury lot?” “Let's see,” mused the building mover. “Today's the eighth. Well, I'll be there by the eleventh, SURE. Can't drag it out no longer, Sol, even if the other horse is took sick. 'Twon't do. Williams has been complainin' to the selectmen and they're beginnin' to pester me. As for that Colt and Adams foreman--whew!”