ight came Mr. Opp, staggering under the load of his baggage,
his coat over his arm, his collar off, thoroughly spent with the events
of the day.

"Lord 'a' mercy!" said Aunt Tish, "if hit ain't Mr. D.! I done give you
up long ago. I certainly is glad you come. Miss Kippy's jes carrying on
like ever'thing. She ain't been to baid for two nights, an' I can't do
nothin' 't all wif her."

Mr. Opp deposited his things in a corner, and, tired as he was, assumed
an air of authority. It was evident that a man was needed, a person of
firmness, of decision.

"I'll see that she goes to bed at once," he said resolutely. "Where is
she at?"

"She's behind de door," said Aunt Tish; "she's be'n so skeered ever
sence her paw died I can't do nothin' wif her."

"Kippy," said Mr. Opp, sternly, "come out here this minute."

But there was no response. Going to the corner where his coat lay, he
took from the pocket a brown-paper parcel.

"Say, Kippy," he said in a greatly mollified tone, "I wish you would
come on out here and see me. You remember brother D., don't you? You
ought to see what I brought you all the way from the city. It's got blue
eyes."

At this the small, grotesque figure, distrustful, suspicious, ready to
take flight at a word, ventured slowly forth. So slight she was, and so
frail, and so softly she moved, it was almost as if the wind blew her
toward him. Every thought that came into her brain was instantly
reflected in her hypersensitive face, and as she stood before him
nervously plucking her fingers, fear and joy struggled for supremacy.
Suddenly with a low cry she snatched the doll from him and clasped it to
her heart.

Meanwhile Aunt Tish had spread a cloth on the table and set forth some
cold corn dodger, a pitcher of foaming butter-milk, and a plate of cold
corned beef. The milk was in a battered pewter pitcher, but the dish
that held the corn bread was of heavy silver, with intricate chasings
about the rim.

Mr. Opp, with his head propped on his hand, ate wearily. He had been up
since four o'clock that morning, and to-morrow he must be up at daybreak
if he was to keep his engagements to supply the dealers with the
greatest line of shoes ever put upon the market. Between now and then he
must decide many things: Kippy must be planned for, the house gone over,
and arrangements made for the future. Being behind the scenes, as it
were, and having no spectator to impress, he allowed himself to sink
into an att