re Cornelius Rowe, Ed Crocker, Beriah
Higgins, Obed Gott, and other interested citizens had already assembled.
Wingate and Stitt followed. As for Captain Hiram Baker, he hurried home,
his conscience reproving him for remaining so long away from his wife
and poor little Hiram Joash, more familiarly known as "Dusenberry."

CHAPTER XIII

DUSENBERRY'S BIRTHDAY

Mrs. Baker met her husband at the door.

"How is he?" was the Captain's first question. "Better, hey?"

"No," was the nervous answer. "No, I don't think he is. His throat's
terrible sore and the fever's just as bad."

Again Captain Hiram's conscience smote him.

"Dear! dear!" he exclaimed. "And I've been loafin' around the depot
with Sol Berry and the rest of 'em instead of stayin' home with you,
Sophrony. I KNEW I was doin' wrong, but I didn't realize--"

"Course you didn't, Hiram. I'm glad you got a few minutes' rest, after
bein' up with him half the night. I do wish the doctor was home, though.
When will he be back?"

"Not until late to-morrer, if then. Did you keep on givin' the
medicine?"

"Yes, but it don't seem to do much good. You go and set with him now,
Hiram. I must be seein' about supper."

So into the sick room went Captain Hiram to sit beside the crib and
sing "Sailor boy, sailor boy, 'neath the wild billow," as a lugubrious
lullaby.

Little Hiram Joash tossed and tumbled. He was in a fitful slumber when
Mrs. Baker called her husband to supper. The meal was anything but
a cheerful one. They talked but little. Over the home, ordinarily so
cheerful, had settled a gloom that weighed upon them.

"My! my!" sighed Captain Hiram, "how lonesome it seems without him
chatterin' and racketin' sound. Seems darker'n usual, as if there was a
shadow on the place."

"Hush, Hiram! don't talk that way. A shadow! Oh, WHAT made you say that?
Sounds like a warnin', almost."

"Warnin'?"

"Yes, a forewarnin', you know. 'The valley of the shadow--'"

"HUSH!" Captain Baker's face paled under its sunburn. "Don't say such
things, Sophrony. If that happened, the Lord help you and me. But it
won't--it won't. We're nervous, that's all. We're always so careful of
Dusenberry, as if he was made out of thin china, that we get fidgety
when there's no need of it. We mustn't be foolish."

After supper Mrs. Baker tiptoed into the bedroom. She emerged with a
very white face.

"Hiram," she whispered, "he acts dreadful queer. Come in and see him."

The "first