The building mover gazed after him in surprise. The nearest way to the Berry home was straight down Cross Street, on the other side of the hill, to the Shore Road, and thence along that road for an eighth of a mile. The Captain's usual course was just that. But to-night he had taken the long route, the Hill Boulevard, which made a wide curve before it descended to the road below. Sim, who had had a shrewd suspicion concerning his friend's silence and evident mental disturbance, stood still, looking and wondering. Olive Edwards, Captain Berry's old sweetheart, lived on the Boulevard. She was in trouble and the Captain knew it. He had asked, that very evening, what she was going to do when forced to move. Phinney could not tell him. Had he gone to find out for himself? Was the mountain at last coming to Mohammed? For some minutes Simeon remained where he was, thinking and surmising. Then he, too, turned and walked cautiously up the Boulevard. He passed the Williams mansion, its library windows ablaze. He passed the twenty-five room “cottage” of the gentleman from Chicago. Then he halted. Opposite him was the little Edwards dwelling and shop. The curtains were up and there was a lamp burning on the small counter. Beside the lamp, in a rocking chair, sat Olive Edwards, the widow, sewing. As he gazed she dropped the sewing in her lap, and raised her head. Phinney saw how worn and sad she looked. And yet, how young, considering her forty years and all she had endured and must endure. She put her hand over her eyes, then removed it wearily. A lump came in Simeon's throat. If he might only help her; if SOME ONE might help her in her lonely misery. And then, from where he stood in the shadow of the Chicago gentleman's hedge, he saw a figure step from the shadows fifty feet farther on. It was Captain Solomon Berry. He walked to the middle of the road and halted, looking in at Olive. Phinney's heart gave a jump. Was the Captain going into that house, going to HER, after all these years? WAS the mountain-- But no. For a full minute the depot master stood, looking in at the woman by the lamp. Then he jammed his hands into his pockets, wheeled, and tramped rapidly off toward his home. Simeon Phinney went home, also, but it was with a heavy heart that he sat down to figure the cost of moving the Williams “pure Colonial” to its destined location. CHAPTER IV THE MAJOR