s arranged for an evening, while his lovely young
wife, who was an accomplished pianist, played his accompaniments, or
rendered solos, thus generously adding to the pleasure of the other
guests.

* * * * *

"I tell you what it is," said old Mr. Cunningham, "that big bank of
clouds hanging over that mountain means rain, and plenty of it, I
believe."

"I think you are right," said Uncle Harry, "and if we _do_ have a three
days' rain, as we sometimes do, we shall have to use every effort to
keep things humming, and so forget the storm."

They had been sitting on the piazza, and talking of the days of
uninterrupted sunshine that they had enjoyed, when, in a few minutes,
the blue sky had been hidden, as if by a thin, pearly veil, while
hanging over the mountain was the mass of leaden clouds that had seemed
to prophesy rain.

"Oh, _I_ don't want it to rain," wailed Floretta, who stood near them,
her pretty face puckered into a most unpleasant frown.

"I'm afraid the weather can't be arranged especially for you," said Mr.
Cunningham.

He, like all the guests, was very tired of the child who was either
whining, or boisterously, rudely gay. Just at this point, Mrs. Paxton
came out on the piazza, a small note-book and pencil in her hand.

She hastened toward the two gentlemen, and smiled as if she were
conferring a favor.

"With the chance of a stormy evening, we are trying to arrange a program
that will give us a pleasant evening indoors," she said. "I am sure you
will help me."

She had smiled at both, and old Mr. Cunningham, who heartily disliked
her, was only too glad to reply.

"I'm not musical, madam," he said, "but I'll whistle 'Hail Columbia' for
you, if you will promise not to reprimand me if I get off the key."

"Dear, dear!" she cried. "You are always so amusing. One never knows if
you are joking, or serious."

"It would be very serious, and no joke, I assure you, if you were
actually obliged to listen to my whistling," was the curt reply, and he
turned once more to scan the sky and the distant mountains.

Uncle Harry, of course, agreed to sing, his wife promised to play, and
Mrs. Paxton moved toward where Mrs. Dainty and her companion, Aunt
Charlotte, were sitting, with Dorothy and Nancy near them.

"Will your little daughter sing for us this evening?" she asked. "We
are eager to have quite a fine program."

"Dorothy shall sing for you, surely," Mrs. Dainty said, "an