f it's only to wear it out by settin' on
it."

There are two "antiques" in Bayport which have not yet been sold or even
bid for. One is Gabe Lumley's "depot wagon," and the other is "Dan'l
Webster," the horse which draws it. Both are very ancient, sadly in need
of upholstery, and jerky of locomotion.

Gabe was, as usual, waiting at the station when the down train arrived,
on the Tuesday--or Wednesday--of the selectmen's meeting. The train was
due, according to the time-table, at eleven forty-five. This time-table,
and the signboard of the "Bayport Hotel" are the only bits of humorous
literature peculiar to our village, unless we add the political
editorials of the Bayport Breeze.

So, at eleven forty-five, Mr. Lumley was serenely dozing on the baggage
truck, which he had wheeled to the sunny side of the platform. At five
minutes past twelve, he yawned, stretched, and looked at his watch.
Then, rolling off the truck, he strolled to the edge of the platform and
spoke authoritatively to "Dan'l Webster."

"Hi there! stand still!" commanded Mr. Lumley.

Standing still being Dan'l's long suit, the order was obeyed. Gabe then
loafed to the door of the station and accosted the depot master, who was
nodding in his chair beside the telegraph instrument.

"Where is she now, Ed?" asked Mr. Lumley, referring to the train.

"Just left South Harniss. Be here pretty soon. What's your hurry?
Expectin' anybody?"

"Naw; nobody that I know of, special. Sophrony Hallett's gone to
Ostable, but she won't be back till to-morrow I cal'late. Hello! there
she whistles now."

Needless to say it was the train, not the widow Hallett, that had
whistled. The depot master rose from his chair. A yellow dog, his
property, scrambled from beneath it, and rushing out of the door and
to the farther end of the platform, barked furiously. Cephas Baker, who
lives across the road from the depot, slouched down to his front gate.
His wife opened the door of her kitchen and stood there, her wet arms
wrapped in her apron. The five Baker children tore round the corner of
the house, over the back fence, and lined up, whooping joyously, on the
platform. A cloud of white smoke billowed above the clump of cedars at
the bend of the track. Then the locomotive rounded the curve and bore
down upon the station.

"Stand still, I tell you!" shouted Gabe, addressing the horse.

Dan'l Webster opened one eye, closed it and relapsed into slumber.

The train, a combin