“Funny how it turned out, wa’n’t it?” said Barzilla.  “Course, Cap’n Jonadab was perfectly sat on spiritu’lism and signs and omens and such after that.  He’s had his fortune told no less’n eight times sence, and, nigh’s I can find out, each time it’s different.  The amount of blondes and brunettes and widows and old maids that he’s slated to marry, accordin’ to them fortune tellers, is perfectly scandalous.  If he lives up to the prophecies, Brigham Young wouldn’t be a twospot ’longside of him.”

“It’s funny about dreams,” mused Captain Hiram.  “Folks are always tellin’ about their comin’ true, but none of mine ever did.  I used to dream I was goin’ to be drowned, but I ain’t been yet.”

The depot master laughed.  “Well,” he observed, “once, when I was a youngster, I dreamed two nights runnin’ that I was bein’ hung.  I asked my Sunday school teacher if he believed dreams come true, and he said yes, sometimes.  Then I told him my dream, and he said he believed in that one.  I judged that any other finish for me would have surprised him.  But, somehow or other, they haven’t hung me yet.”

“There was a hired girl over at the Old Home House who was sat on fortune tellin’,” said Wingate.  “Her name was Effie, and—­”

“Look here!” broke in Captain Bailey Stitt, righteous indignation in his tone, “I’ve started no less than nineteen different times to tell you about how I went sailin’ in an automobile.  Now do you want to hear it, or don’t you?”

“How you went sailin’ in an auto?” repeated Barzilla.  “Went ridin’, you mean.”

“I mean sailin’.  I went ridin’, too, but—­”

“You’ll have to excuse me, Bailey,” interrupted Captain Hiram, rising and looking at his watch.  “I’ve stayed here a good deal longer’n I ought to, already.  I must be gettin’ on home to see how poor little Dusenberry, my boy, is feelin’.  I do hope he’s better by now.  I wish Dr. Parker hadn’t gone out of town.”

The depot master rose also.  “And I’ll have to be excused, too,” he declared.  “It’s most time for the up train.  Good-by, Hiram.  Give my regards to Sophrony, and if there’s anything I can do to help, in case your baby should be sick, just sing out, won’t you?”

“But I want to tell about this automobilin’ scrape,” protested Captain Bailey.  “It was one of them things that don’t happen every day.”

“So was that fortune business of Effie’s,” declared Wingate.  “Honest, the way it worked out was queer enough.”

But the train whistled just then and the group broke up.  Captain Sol went out to the platform, where 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