the porch. The eye of every inmate of the perfect boarding house was on
him. Even the "hired help" peered from the kitchen door.

"He's a stranger," whispered Mrs. Tripp. "I never see him before, did
you, Mr. Tidditt?"

The town clerk did not answer. He was staring at the depot wagon's
passenger, staring with a face the interested expression of which was
changing to that of surprise and amazed incredulity. Mrs. Tripp turned
to Mr. Bangs; he also was staring, open-mouthed.

"Godfrey scissors!" gasped Asaph, under his breath. "Godfrey--SCISSORS!
Bailey, I--I believe--I swan to man, I believe--"

"Ase Tidditt!" exclaimed Mr. Bangs, "am I goin' looney, or is that--is
that--"

Neither finished his sentence. There are times when language seems so
pitifully inadequate.



CHAPTER II

THE WANDERER'S RETURN


Here in Bayport, nowadays, the collecting of "antiques" is a favorite
amusement of our summer visitors. Those of us who were fortunate enough
to possess a set of nicked blue dishes, a warming pan, or a tall clock