hing like that. Ef
you've got to have the pie, why, you've _got_ to have it, that's all.'
The old man groaned, and pegged away at the pie like a good one. 'Ah!'
he said, 'I sha'n't be here long, anyway. Nobody needn't be afraid o'
_my_ eatin' up their substance. Hand me them doughnuts, Abner. Nothin'
seems to have any taste to it, somehow.'"

"Did he eat nothing but pie and doughnuts?" asked Hilda. "I should be
afraid he would die to-night."

"Oh," said Bubble, "you wouldn't believe me if I told you all the things
he ate. Pickles and hot biscuit and cheese--and groaning all the time,
and saying nobody knowed what dyspepsy was till they'd had it. Then,
when he'd finished, he opened the pill-box, which had been close beside
his plate all the time, and took three great fat black pills. 'Have any
trouble with yer liver?' says he, turning to me again; 'there is
nothin' like these pills for yer liver. You take two of these, and
you'll feel 'em all over ye in an hour's time,--all over ye!' I thought
't was about time for me to go, so I said I must attend to the horse's
foot, and went out to the stable. It was then that he brought me the
three kinds of liniment, and wanted me to rub them all on, 'so 's if one
didn't take holt, another would.'"

"What a dreadful old ghoul!" cried Hildegarde, indignantly. "I don't
think it's safe for you to stay there, Bubble. I know he will poison you
in some way."

"You're talking about Cephas Colt, _I_ know," said the voice of Mrs.
Brett; and the good woman appeared with her knitting, and joined the
group on the doorstep. "He is a caution, Cephas is,--a caution! He's
been dosing himself for the last thirty years, and it's a living miracle
that he is alive to-day Abner and Leory have a sight o' trouble with
him; but they're real good and patient, more so 'n I should be. Did he
show you his collection of bottles?" she added, turning to Bubble.

"No," replied the boy. "He did speak of showing me something; but I was
in a hurry to get over here, so I told him I couldn't wait."

"You'll see 'em to-morrow, then!" said the widow. "It's his delight to
show 'em to strangers. Four thousand and odd bottles he has,--all physic
bottles, that have held all the stuff he and his folks have taken for
thirty years."

"Four--thousand--bottles!" cried her hearers, in dismay.

"And odd!" replied the widow, with emphasis. "He's adding new ones all
the time, and hopes to make it up to five thousand before h