Horse-hair furniture in all the glory of endless "tidies" was arranged against walls bedight with a rainbow-like wilderness of morning-glories. The ceiling was of white plaster, and the floor was painted white and decked here and there with knitted rag-carpets, on whose Joseph's-coated surfaces Rebecca loved to gaze when in retrospective mood. In those humble floor-coverings her knowing eyes recognized her first clocked stockings and Phoebe's baby cloak. There was her brother Robert's wool tippet embalmed in loving loops with the remnants of his wife's best Sunday-go-to-meetin' ribbons. These two had long been dead, but their sister's loving eyes recreated them in rag-carpet dreams wherein she lived again those by-gone days. Rebecca had just seated herself and was unrolling her work, when her eyes caught a glimpse of a man's form through the window. He had passed into her gate and was approaching the door. She leaned forward for a good look and then dropped back into her chair with a gasp of surprise. "Copernicus Droop!" she exclaimed, "did you ever!" She sat in rigid astonishment until she heard his timid knock, followed by the sound of shoes vigorously wiped upon the door-mat. "Well, come! Thet's a comfort!" she thought. "He won't muss the carpet"--and she rose to admit her visitor. "Good mornin'," said Droop, timidly. "I seen Cousin Phoebe a-runnin' down the road, an' I sorter thought I'd run in an' see how you was." "Come right in," said Rebecca, in non-committal tones. She shut the door and followed him into the parlor. "Here, give me yer hat," she continued. "Set right there. How be ye?" Droop obeyed. In a few moments the two were seated facing each other, and Rebecca's needles were already busy. There was an interval of awkward silence. "Well, what did ye come fer?" It was Rebecca who broke the spell. In her usual downright fashion, she came to the point at once. She thought it as well he should know that she was not deceived by his polite pretence of casual friendly interest. Droop settled forward with elbows on his knees and brought his finger-tips carefully and accurately together. He found this action amazingly promotive of verbal accuracy. "Well, Cousin Rebecca," he began, slowly, "I'm lookin' fer a partner." He paused, considering how to proceed. The spinster let her hands drop in speechless wonder. The audacity of the man! He--to her--a proposal! At her age! From him! Fortunately the next few words disclosed her error, and she blushed for it as she lifted her work again, turning nearer the window as if for better light. "Yes," Droop proceeded, "I've a little business plan, an' it needs capital an' a partner." He waited, but there was no response. "Capital an' a partner," he repeated, "an' intelligence an' ambition. So I come to you." Rebecca turned toward him again, scarcely less surprised now than before. "To me! D'ye mean to say ye've me in yer mind fer a partner--with capital?"