under the trouser-legs, and as the trousers were about as narrow as a sheath skirt, they kept slipping up and gave the appearance of being at least six inches too short.  Although Bishey is tall and thin, his coat was two sizes too small, his shirt was of soft tan material, and he wore a blue tie.  But whatever may have been amiss with his costume was easily forgotten when one saw his radiant face.  He grasped my hand and wrung it as if it was a chicken’s neck.

“What in the world is the matter with you?” I asked, as I rubbed my abused paw.  “Just you come here and I’ll tell you,” he answered.  There was no one to hear but the kiddies, but I went around the corner of the house with him.  He put his hand up to his mouth and whispered that “Miss Em’ly” was coming, would be there on the afternoon stage.  I had never heard of “Miss Em’ly,” and said so.  “Well, just you go in and set on the sofy and soon’s I see your horses took care of I’ll come in and tell you.”  I went into my own room, and after I rustled some water I made myself and the kiddies a little more presentable.  Then we went into the sitting-room and sat on the “sofy.”  Presently Bishey sauntered in, trying to look unconcerned and at ease, but he was so fidgety he couldn’t sit down.  But he told his story, and a dear one it is.

It seems that back in New York State he and Miss Em’ly were “young uns” together.  When they were older they planned to marry, but neither wanted to settle down to the humdrumness that they had always known.  Both dreamed of the golden West; so Bishey had gone to blaze the trail, and “Miss Em’ly” was to follow.  First one duty and then another had held her, until twenty-five years had slipped by and they had not seen each other, but now she was coming, that very day.  They would be married that evening, and I at once appointed myself matron of honor and was plumb glad there was no other candidate.

I at once took the decorations in hand.  Bishey, Jerrine, and myself went out and gathered armfuls of asters and goldenrod-like rabbit-brush.  From the dump-pile we sorted cans and pails that would hold water, and we made the sitting-room a perfect bower of purple and gold beauty.  I put on my last clean shirt-waist and the children’s last clean dresses.  Then, as there seemed nothing more to do, Bishey suggested that we walk up the road and meet the stage; but the day had been warm, and I remembered my own appearance when I had come over that same road the first time.  I knew that journey was trying on any one’s appearance at any time of the year, and after twenty-five years to be thrust into view covered with alkali dust and with one’s hat on awry would be too much for feminine patience; so I pointed out to Bishey that he’d better clear out and let Miss Em’ly rest a bit before he showed up.  At last he reluctantly agreed.