He whistled. His companion smiled grimly. “Williams himself drops in to see me occasional,” he said. “Tells me what he thinks of me, with all the trimmin's added. I cal'late he gets as good as he sends. I'm always glad to see him; he keeps me cheered up, in his way.” “Ye-es, I shouldn't wonder. Was he in to-day?” “He was. And somethin' has pleased him, I guess. At any rate he was in better spirits. Asked me if I was goin' to move right onto that Main Street lot soon as my house got there.” “What did you say?” “I said I was cal'latin' to. Told him I hated to get out of the high-society circles I'd been livin' in lately, but that everyone had their comedowns in this world.” “Ho, ho! that was a good one. What answer did he make to that?” “Well, he said the 'high society' would miss me. Then he finished up with a piece of advice. 'Berry,' says he, 'don't move onto that lot TOO quick. I wouldn't if I was you.' Then he went away, chucklin'.” “Chucklin', hey? What made him so joyful?” “Don't know”--Captain Sol's face clouded once more--“and I care less,” he added brusquely. Simeon pondered. “Have you heard from Abner Payne, Sol?” he asked. “Has Ab answered that letter you wrote sayin' you'd swap your lot for the Main Street one?” “No, he hasn't. I wrote him that day I told you to move me.” “Hum! that's kind of funny. You don't s'pose--” He stopped, noticing the expression on his friend's face. The depot master was looking out through the open door of the waiting room. On the opposite side of the road, just emerging from Mr. Higgins's “general store,” was Olive Edwards, the widow whose home was to be pulled down as soon as the “Colonial” reached its destination. She came out of the store and started up Main Street. Suddenly, and as if obeying an involuntary impulse, she turned her head. Her eyes met those of Captain Sol Berry, the depot master. For a brief instant their glance met, then Mrs. Edwards hurried on. Sim Phinney sighed pityingly. “Looks kind of tired and worried, don't she?” he ventured. His friend did not speak. “I say,” repeated Phinney, “that Olive looks sort of worn out and--” “Has she heard from the Omaha cousin yet?” interrupted the depot master. “No; Mr. Hilton says not. Sol, what DO you s'pose--” But Captain Sol had risen and gone into the ticket office. The door closed behind him. Mr. Phinney shook his head and walked out of the building. On his way back to the scene of the house moving he shook his head several times. On the afternoon of the ninth Captain Bailey Stitt and his friend Wingate came to say good-by. Stitt was going back to Orham on the “up” train, due at 3:30. Barzilla would return to Wellmouth and the Old Home House on the evening (the “down”) train. “Hey, Sol!” shouted Wingate, as they entered the waiting room. “Sol! where be you?” The depot master came out of the ticket office. “Hello, boys!” he said shortly.