folks had gone and winter had set in. Our order carts kept runnin’ and they _took_ orders, too. The store was doin’ well by us both and I certainly owed old Pullet a debt of thanks for workin’ on my sympathies until I put my cash into it. There was consider’ble buildin’ goin’ on in town and, when spring begun to show symptoms of makin’ Ostable harbor, Jim Henry got possessed of a new idea. I didn’t pay much attention at fust. He was always as full of notions as a peddler’s cart and if I took every one of ’em serious we’d either been Rockefellers or star boarders at the poorhouse, one or t’other. ’Twa’n’t till that day in April when old Ebenezer Taylor came in after his mail and went out after the constable that I realized somethin’ had to be done.

You see, Ebenezer’s eyes was failin’ on him and, to make things worse, he’d forgot his nigh-to specs and had on his far-off pair. Consequently, when he headed for the after end of the store, he wa’n’t in no condition to keep clear of the rocks and shoals in the channel. Fust thing he run into was a couple of dress-forms with some bargain calico gowns on 'em. While he was beggin’ pardon of them forms, under the impression that they was women customers, he backed into a roll of barbed wire fencin’ that was leanin’ against the candy and cigar counter. His clothes was sort of thin and if that barbed wire had been somebody tryin’ to borrer a quarter of him he couldn’t have jumped higher or been more emphatic in his remarks. The third jump landed him against the gunwale of a bushel basket of eggs that Jacobs was makin’ a special run on and had set out prominent in the aisle. Maybe Ebenezer was tired from the jumpin’ or maybe the excitement had gone to his head and he thought he was a hen. Anyhow he set on them eggs, and in two shakes of a heifer’s tail he was the messiest lookin’ omelet ever I see. Jacobs and me and the clerk scraped him off best we could with pieces of barrel hoop and the cheese knife, and Mary come out from behind the letter boxes and helped along with the floor mop, but when we’d finished with him he was consider’ble more like somethin’ for breakfast than he was human.And mad! An April fool chocolate cream couldn’t have been more peppery than he was. He distributed his commentaries around pretty general—Mary got some and so did Jacobs—but the heft was fired at me. He hated me anyhow, ’count of my bein’ made postmaster and for some other reasons.

"You—you thunderin’ murderer!" he hollered, shakin’ his old fist in my face. "’Twas all your fault. You done it a-purpose. Look at me! Look! my legs punched full of holes like a skimmer, and—and my clothes! Just look at my clothes! A whole suit ruined! A suit I 

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