k "What next?" And Peggy, as was her custom,
promptly rose to the occasion.

"Now for this afternoon--"

A reverberating rap immediately behind her, caused Peggy to turn with a
start and throw open the door, whereupon the figure on the step entered
without waiting for an invitation. It was Jerry Morton, but a Jerry
startlingly unlike his every-day self. Even the fact that he was
dripping with rain could not obscure the magnificence of his toilet,
including very pointed tan shoes, and a hand-painted necktie. Under his
coat was partially concealed some bulging object which gave him an
appearance singularly unsymmetrical.

Peggy was the first to recover herself. "Why, good afternoon, Jerry. But
I guess we shan't want any fish to-day."

"You don't suppose I'd sell fish on the Fourth, do you?" demanded Jerry
with the impressive scorn of a patriot misjudged. "I thought maybe you'd
like--like a little music, seeing it's raining cats and dogs." He had
thrown apart his soaked coat as he spoke, and the bulging object proved
to be a banjo, in a little flannel case, which Jerry hastily removed,
twanging the strings of the instrument in his anxiety to ascertain the
effect of the dampness on their constitution.

"Music! Why, that's very nice of you, Jerry. Come into the next room and
let me introduce you to Mrs. Tyler." Peggy was a little in doubt as to
the light in which Aunt Abigail would regard this unceremonious call
from the youthful fish-vender. But the shrewd old lady was familiar with
the customs of too many lands, not to be able to accommodate herself to
the democratic simplicity of a country community. She gave Jerry her
hand, insisted that he should take a seat by the fire, where his damp
clothing would gradually dry, and forthwith called for "Dixie." And
hardly was the stirring melody well under way before the girls were
keeping time with toes and fingers, and a general animation was
replacing the temporary frigidity induced by Jerry's advent. Jerry
really played surprisingly well, and on a stormy day such an
accomplishment stands its possessor in good stead.

But it was not left to Jerry to uphold the reputation of the community
for sociability. The ringing of the front-door bell interrupted "The
Suwannee River," and Peggy, who was nearest the door, jumped up to
answer the summons, while Hobo, a little ahead of her as usual, stood
with his nose to the crack, gravely attentive, as if to satisfy himself
as to the in