Through the busy afternoon Mr. Opp referred constantly to his watch, and in spite of the manifold duties to be performed, longed impatiently for evening to arrive. At five o'clock he had moved the furniture from one bedroom to another, demonstrated beyond a possibility of doubt that a fire could not be made in the parlor grate without the chimney smoking, mended two chairs, hung a pair of curtains, and made three errands to town. So much accomplished, he turned his attention to the most difficult task of all. "Kippy," he said, going to the window where she was gleefully tracing the course of the raindrops as they chased down the pane. "Stop a minute, Kippy. Listen; I want to talk to you." Miss Kippy turned obediently, but her lips continued the dumb conversation she was having with the rain. "How would you like," said Mr. Opp, approaching the subject cautiously, "to play like you was a grown-up lady--just for to-night, you know?" Miss Kippy looked at him suspiciously, and her lips stopped moving. Heretofore she had resisted all efforts to change her manner of dress. "There's a gentleman a-coming," continued Mr. Opp, persuasively; "he's going to remain over till to-morrow, and Aunt Tish is cooking that large goose for him, and I've been fixing up the spare room. We are all endeavoring to give him a nice time. Don't you want to dress up for him?" "Will it make him glad?" asked Miss Kippy. Mr. Opp expiated on the enjoyment it would give the unknown guest to see Kippy in the blue merino dress which Aunt Tish had gotten out of Mrs. Opp's old trunk up-stairs. "And you'll let Aunt Tish arrange your hair up like a lady?" went on Mr. Opp, pushing the point. "Yes," said Miss Kippy, after a moment, "Oxety will. She will make him glad." "Good!" said Mr. Opp. "And if you will sit nice and quiet and never say a word all through supper, I'll get you a book with pictures in it, representing flowers and things." "Roses?" asked Miss Kippy, drawing a quick breath of delight; and when Mr. Opp nodded, she closed her eyes and smiled as if heaven were within sight. For Miss Kippy was like a harp across which some rough hand had swept, snapping all the strings but two, the high one of ecstasy and the low one of despair. At six o'clock Mr. Opp went up to make his toilet. The rain, which had been merely rehearsing all day, was now giving a regular performance, and it played upon the windows, and went trilling through the gutters on the roof, while the old cedar-tree scraped an accompaniment on the corner of the porch below. But, nothing daunted, Mr. Opp donned his bravest attire. Cyclones and tornadoes could not have deterred him from making the most elaborate toilet at his command. To be sure, he turned up the hem of his trousers and tied a piece of oilcloth securely about each leg, and he also spread a handkerchief tenderly over his pink necktie; but these could be easily removed after he heard the boat whistle.