with wooden wheels, have long ago parted with these treasures for
considerable sums. Oddly enough Sylvanus Cahoon has profited most by
this craze. Sylvanus used to be judged the unluckiest man in town; of
late this judgment has been revised.

It was Sylvanus who, confined to the house by an illness brought on by
eating too much "sugar cake" at a free sociable given by the Methodist
Society, arose in the night and drank copiously of what he supposed to
be the medicine left by the doctor. It happened to be water-bug poison,
and Sylvanus was nearly killed by the dose. He is reported as having
admitted that he "didn't mind dyin' so much, but hated to die such a dum
mean death."

While convalescent he took to smoking in bed and was burned out of
house and home in consequence. Then it was that his kind-hearted fellow
citizens donated, for the furnishing of his new residence, all the
cast-off bits of furniture and odds and ends from their garrets.
"Charity," observed Captain Josiah Dimick at the time, "begins at home
with us Bayporters, and it generally begins up attic, that bein' nighest
to heaven."

Later Sylvanus sold most of the donations as "antiques" and made money
enough therefrom to buy a new plush parlor set. Miss Angeline Phinney
never called on the Cahoons after that without making her appearance at
the front door. "I'll get some good out of that plush sofy I helped to
pay for," declared Angeline, "if it's only to wear it out by settin' on
it."

There are two "antiques" in Bayport which have not yet been sold or even
bid for. One is Gabe Lumley's "depot wagon," and the other is "Dan'l