It was one part of Peter's business to watch the coming in of the mail, and see that the letters and papers for either family were distributed in the quickest possible time; also to attend upon the departure and arrival of the sloop, as there was always something to go or come by that conveyance, it being the only regular one to and from the city. This part of Peter's duty he performed with special pleasure; Sam had ever been a favorite of his, and he never tired of telling over what he knew of him when a boy, and extolling his fine appearance, his activity and his correct conduct in all things, now that he had grown to be a man. Between the Commodore and Peter Sam was often a subject of conversation, until all that Peter knew of his favorite had been many times repeated. On this day, so distinguished in the life of his hero, Peter not only brought along from the boat quite a number of parcels, but he had also a weighty cargo of news, which he had gathered on his way back. After giving Lady Morris, as he always styled her, the first of the tidings, he hastened to the Commodore's as fast as his crutches would carry him. It was a warm afternoon, and the Commodore was seated in his veranda on the shady side of the house, enjoying the cooling view of the expanse of water spread out before him, and the gentle breeze that scarce moved the long branches of the willow that hung above and around him, when he heard the well-known sound of the crutches stumping along the hard gravel path at double quick time. Peter was so much out of breath, and so excited with what he had to tell, that after he had reached the stoop and taken off his hat, and smoothed down his queue and made several obeisances, he could only stammer out, 'Your honor--' The Commodore looked at him with no little surprise, for the preparation Peter had made betokened quite a long yarn. 'A warm day, Peter.' 'Very, your honor;' and Peter fumbled away at his queue, and twisted his quid to all sides of his mouth. 'You are out of breath, Peter; what is the haste to-day? any news stirring?' 'Great news, your honor, great news.' 'Is war declared, or has the comet lost its tail? let me hear; out with it, Peter.' 'No war, your honor, God forbid: and I guess the comet is whizzing away yet, though we can't see him by daylight; but your honor knows that picture of a house up along the bank there--' 'Ay, ay--what, the house that has no owner? and a pretty box it is; what of it, Peter?'