Eagerly the girl dropped her knitting and hastened to reconnoitre, curious herself. “It's Zeke White,” she replied, returning to her work. “I knowed Mandy Calline was spectin' him,” muttered Ann Elisabeth, under her breath. Father Tyler arose and sauntered to the door, calling out: “You Jeff, ef ye don't stop that barkin'--Come here this minit, sir! Good-evenin', Zekle; come in.” “Good-evenin”, Mr. Tyler. “Is Zachariah ter home?” “I dun'no'. Malviny, is Zachariah erroun' anywher's 'at ye know of?” “I dun'no'; I hain't seed 'im sence supper.” “I know,” piped up “Little Jim.” “He said es he was er-goin' ter Bill Jackson's. But, Zeke,” he added, in a hurried aside, catching hold of the visitor's coat in his eagerness, “Mandy Calline's ter home, 'n' she's fixed up ter kill!” At this juncture Mandy Calline herself appeared in the doorway, striving to look calmly indifferent at everything in general and nothing in particular; but the expression in her bright black eyes was shifty, and the color in her cheeks vied with that of the bow on her hair; and by this time Zekle's entire anatomy exposed to view shared the tint of his brilliant necktie. “Good-evenin', Zekle,” said the girl, bravely assuming a calm superiority to all embarrassment and confusion. “Will ye come in th' parlor, er had ye ruther set out on th' piazza?” Zekle was wise; he knew that “Little Jim” dare not intrude on the sacred precincts of the parlor, and he answered, “I'd jest es live set in th' parlor, of it's all th' same ter you.” “Ya'as, I'd jest es live,” she replied, and led the way into the room; he followed, and sat down in rather constrained fashion on the chair nearest the door, deposited his hat on the floor beside him, took from his pocket and unfolded with a flirt an immense bandanna handkerchief, highly redolent of cheap cologne, and proceeded to mop his face with it. “It's ruther warm,” he observed. “Ya'as,” she replied, from a rocking-chair in the corner facing him. Here there was a long pause, and presently she added, “Pappy said es how he tho't it mought rain in er day er two.” The family in the sitting-room had settled down, the door being closed between that room and the parlor. “There, mother, gi' Thaney ter me,” said Mother Tyler. “I know ye're tired holdin' of her, fer she ain't no light weight,” and she lifted the little one away. “Heigho, Thaney, air ye erwake yit?” questioned the father. “Erwake! Ya'as, 'n' likely ter be,” said the mother. “Thaney's one o' th' setters-up, she is.”