The windows were covered with paper curtains of a pale blue tint. In the centre of each a festive couple, a youth and damsel, of apparently Bohemian type, with clasped hands held high, disported themselves in a frantic dance. These pictures were considered by the entire neighborhood as resting triumphantly on the top round of the ladder of art.
Both parlor and sitting-room opened on a narrow piazza on the front of the house, Father Tyler not caring to waste space in a hall or passage.
Mandy Calline had flicked a bit of imaginary dust from the polished surface of the table, had set a bit straighter, if that were possible, one or two of the chairs, and turned up the lamp a trifle higher, when “Little Jim” opened the door leading out on the piazza, and in tones of suppressed excitement half whispered, “He's er-comin', Mandy Calline; Zeke's er-comin'; he's nigh 'bout ter th' gate.”
“Go 'long, Jim, 'n' shet up; ye allers knows more'n the law allows,” said his sister; but she glanced quickly and shyly out of the door.
Mr. Ezekiel White was just entering the gate. He was undoubtedly gotten up at vast expense for the occasion. A suit of store clothes of a startling plaid adorned his lanky figure, and a pair of new shoes cramped his feet in the most approved style. A new felt hat rested lightly on his well-oiled hair. But the crowning glory was a flaming red necktie which flowed in blazing magnificence over his shirt front.
Jeff, the yard dog, barked in neighborly fashion, as though yelping a greeting to a frequent visitor whom he recognized as a favored one.
“Susan Jane,” said the father, “step ter th' door 'n' see who Jeff's er-barkin' at.”
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.