Bestowing a kiss on one aged cheek and a gentle pat on the other, Mandy Calline arose to her feet, and lighting a splinter at the fire, opened the door in the partition separating the two rooms and entered the “parlor.” This room was the pride of the family, as none of the neighbors could afford one set apart specially for company. It was the only room in the house lathed and plastered. Mother Tyler, who was truly an ambitious woman, had, however, declared in the pride of her heart that this one at least should be properly finished. Mandy Calline, with her blazing splinter, lighted the lamp, quite a gay affair, with a gaudily painted shade, and bits of red flannel with scalloped edges floating about in the bowl. The floor was covered with a neatly woven rag carpet of divers gay colors. Before the hearth, which displayed a coat of red ochre, lay a home-made rug of startling pattern. The fireplace was filled with cedar boughs and sweet-smelling myrtle. Two “boughten” rocking-chairs of painted wood confronted each other primly from opposite ends of the rug. Half a dozen straight-back chairs, also “boughten,” were disposed stiffly against the walls. A large folding-leaf dining-table of real mahogany, an heirloom in the family, occupied the space between two windows, and held a few scattered books. The windows were covered with paper curtains of a pale blue tint. In the centre of each a festive couple, a youth and damsel, of apparently Bohemian type, with clasped hands held high, disported themselves in a frantic dance. These pictures were considered by the entire neighborhood as resting triumphantly on the top round of the ladder of art. Both parlor and sitting-room opened on a narrow piazza on the front of the house, Father Tyler not caring to waste space in a hall or passage. Mandy Calline had flicked a bit of imaginary dust from the polished surface of the table, had set a bit straighter, if that were possible, one or two of the chairs, and turned up the lamp a trifle higher, when “Little Jim” opened the door leading out on the piazza, and in tones of suppressed excitement half whispered, “He's er-comin', Mandy Calline; Zeke's er-comin'; he's nigh 'bout ter th' gate.” “Go 'long, Jim, 'n' shet up; ye allers knows more'n the law allows,” said his sister; but she glanced quickly and shyly out of the door. Mr. Ezekiel White was just entering the gate. He was undoubtedly gotten up at vast expense for the occasion. A suit of store clothes of a startling plaid adorned his lanky figure, and a pair of new shoes cramped his feet in the most approved style. A new felt hat rested lightly on his well-oiled hair. But the crowning glory was a flaming red necktie which flowed in blazing magnificence over his shirt front. Jeff, the yard dog, barked in neighborly fashion, as though yelping a greeting to a frequent visitor whom he recognized as a favored one. “Susan Jane,” said the father, “step ter th' door 'n' see who Jeff's er-barkin' at.”