you goin' to
have my house in the middle of the road by day after to-morrer? Or was
that just talk?"

"'Twa'n't talk. I can have it there, but--"

"All right," said Captain Sol coolly, "then have it."

Hands in pockets, he strolled away. Simeon sat down on a rock by the
roadside and whistled.

However, whistling was a luxurious and time-wasting method of expressing
amazement, and Mr. Phinney could not afford luxuries just then. For the
rest of that day he was a busy man. As Bailey Stitt expressed it, he
"flew round like a sand flea in a mitten," hiring laborers, engaging
masons, and getting his materials ready. That very afternoon the masons
began tearing down the chimneys of the little Berry house. Before the
close of the following day it was on the rollers. By two of the day
after that it was in the middle of the Shore Road, just when its mover
had declared it should be. They were moving it, furniture and all,
and Captain Sol was, as he said, going to "stay right aboard all the
voyage." No cooking could be done, of course, but the Captain arranged
to eat at Mrs. Higgins's hospitable table during the transit. His sudden
freak was furnishing material for gossip throughout the village, but he
did not care. Gossip concerning his actions was the last thing in the
world to trouble Captain Sol Berry.

The Williams's "Colonial" was moving toward the corner at a rapid
rate, and the foreman of the Boston moving firm walked over to see Mr.
Phinney.

"Say," he observed to Simeon, who, the perspiration streaming down
his face, was resting for a moment before recommencing his labor of
arranging rollers; "say," observed the foreman, "we'll be ready to turn
into the Boulevard by tomorrer night and you're blockin' the way."

"That's all right," said Simeon, "we'll be past the Boulevard corner by
that time."

He thought he was speaking the truth, but next morning, before work
began, Captain Berry appeared. He had had breakfast and strolled around
to the scene of operations.

"Well," asked Phinney, "how'd it seem to sleep on wheels?"

"Tiptop," replied the depot master. "Like it fust rate. S'pose my next
berth will be somewheres up there, won't it?"

He was pointing around the corner instead of straight ahead. Simeon
gaped, his mouth open.

"Up THERE?" he cried. "Why, of course not. That's the Boulevard. We're
goin' along the Shore Road."

"That so? I guess not. We're goin' by the Boulevard. Can go that way,
can't we?