"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 he dies. Large ones and small, of course, and lotions and all. He takes every new thing that comes along, reg'lar. He has his wife's bottles all arranged in a shape, kind o' monument-like. They do say he wanted to set them up on her grave, but I guess that's only talk."
"How long ago did she die?" asked Rose.
"Three year ago, it is now!" said Mrs. Brett. "Dosed herself to death, we all thought. She was just like him! Folks used to say they had pills and catnip-tea for dinner the day they was married. You know how folks will talk! It's a fact though"—here she lowered her voice—"and I'd ought not to gossip about my neighbors, nor I don't among themselves much, but strangers seem different somehow,—anyhow, it is a fact that he wanted to put a scandalous inscription on her monument in the cemetery, and Abner wouldn't let him; the only time Abner ever stood out against his father, as I know of."
"What was the inscription?" asked Hildegarde, trying hard to look as grave as the subject required.
"Well,—you mustn't say I told you!" said the Widow Brett, lowering her voice still more, and looking about with an air of mystery,—"'t was
'Phosphoria helped her for a spell;
But Death spoke up, and all is well.'