Mr. Opp

								

to a state of abject curiosity.
So intent was Jimmy upon his investigation that he failed to hold his
course, and the launch swung around the end of the island with such a
sudden jerk that Mr. Opp took an unexpected seat.
As he did so, his hand touched the paper parcel in his pocket, and
realizing that it was untied, he hastily endeavored, by a series of
surreptitious manoeuvers, to conceal what it contained. Feeling the
quizzical eye of his shipmate full upon him, he assumed an air of
studied indifference, and stoically ignored the subterranean chuckles
and knowing winks in which Mr. Fallows indulged.
Presently, when the situation had become poignant, Mr. Opp observed that
he supposed the funeral would take place from the church.
"I reckon so," said Jimmy, reluctantly answering to the call of the
conversational rudder. "I told the boys to have a hack there for you and
Mr. Ben and Miss Kippy."
"I don't think my sister will be there," said Mr. Opp, with dignity;
"she seldom or never leaves the house."
"Reckon Mr. Ben will have to take keer of her now," said Jimmy; "she
surely will miss her pa. He never done a lick of work since I knowed
him, but he was a nice, quiet old fellow, and he certainly was good to
pore Miss Kippy."
"Mr. Moore was a gentleman," said Mr. Opp, and he sighed.
"Ain't she got any kin on his side? No folks except you two
half-brothers?"
"That's all," said Mr. Opp; "just I and Ben."
"Gee! that's kind of tough on you all, ain't it?"
But the sympathy was untimely, for Mr. Opp's dignity had been touched in
a sensitive place.
"Our sister will be well provided for," he said, and the conversation
suffered a relapse.
Mr. Opp went back to his time-tables and his new note-book, and for the
rest of the trip Jimmy devoted himself to his wheel, with occasional
ocular excursions in the direction of Mr. Opp's coat pocket.

II

Lying in the crook of the river's elbow, with the nearest railroad
eighteen miles away, Cove City, familiarly known as the Cove, rested
serenely undisturbed by the progress of the world. Once a day, at any
time between sundown and midnight, it was roused from its drowsiness by
the arrival of the mail-boat, and, shaking itself into temporary
wakefulness, sat up and rubbed its eyes. This animation was, however, of
short duration, for before the packet had whistled for the next landing,
the Cove had once more settled back into slumber.
Main Street began with a shabby, unpainted school-house, and following
dramatic sequence, ended abruptly in the graveyard. Two cross-streets,
which had started out with laudable ideas of independence, lost courage
at Main Street and sought strength in union; but the experiment was not
successful, and a cow-path was the result. The only semblance of
frivolity about the town was a few straggling cottages on stilts of
varying height as they approached the river; for they seemed ever in the