A few moments later the back room was in its usual flawless order and the two sisters had seated themselves near the lamp. Ann Eliza had taken up her sewing, and Evelina was preparing to make artificial flowers. The sisters usually relegated this more delicate business to the long leisure of the summer months; but to-night Evelina had brought out the box which lay all winter under the bed, and spread before her a bright array of muslin petals, yellow stamens and green corollas, and a tray of little implements curiously suggestive of the dental art. Ann Eliza made no remark on this unusual proceeding; perhaps she guessed why, for that evening her sister had chosen a graceful task. Presently a knock on the outer door made them look up; but Evelina, the first on her feet, said promptly: “Sit still. I'll see who it is.” Ann Eliza was glad to sit still: the baby's petticoat that she was stitching shook in her fingers. “Sister, here's Mr. Ramy come to look at the clock,” said Evelina, a moment later, in the high drawl she cultivated before strangers; and a shortish man with a pale bearded face and upturned coat-collar came stiffly into the room. Ann Eliza let her work fall as she stood up. “You're very welcome, I'm sure, Mr. Ramy. It's real kind of you to call.” “Nod ad all, ma'am.” A tendency to illustrate Grimm's law in the interchange of his consonants betrayed the clockmaker's nationality, but he was evidently used to speaking English, or at least the particular branch of the vernacular with which the Bunner sisters were familiar. “I don't like to led any clock go out of my store without being sure it gives satisfaction,” he added. “Oh--but we were satisfied,” Ann Eliza assured him. “But I wasn't, you see, ma'am,” said Mr. Ramy looking slowly about the room, “nor I won't be, not till I see that clock's going all right.” “May I assist you off with your coat, Mr. Ramy?” Evelina interposed. She could never trust Ann Eliza to remember these opening ceremonies. “Thank you, ma'am,” he replied, and taking his thread-bare over-coat and shabby hat she laid them on a chair with the gesture she imagined the lady with the puffed sleeves might make use of on similar occasions. Ann Eliza's social sense was roused, and she felt that the next act of hospitality must be hers. “Won't you suit yourself to a seat?” she suggested. “My sister will reach down the clock; but I'm sure she's all right again. She's went beautiful ever since you fixed her.”