“Hally-loo-yah, tazmun!” burst out Old Sally. “Hally--hally--hally--” She caught her mistress's austere glance. “I knowed it was cornin' so all along,” she concluded, heroically compressing herself to a calm if belated assurance. “--as the minimum price stipulated,” pursued Mr. Boggs. “I thank you,” said the Duchess. “Also,” concluded the agent, “a balance, after deducting all expenses, of two thousand one hundred and fifty-three dollars and twenty cents.” The Duchess's face never so much as changed. “That is entirely satisfactory,” she observed. “I have to thank you all for your successful efforts in securing a suitable price. My only regret,” the quiet voice faltered a little, “is that circumstances should have forced me to part with an expression of esteem for my beloved father from one who was the greatest military hero of all history.” “You're in wrong, lady,” caroled Mr. Boggs, his rhetoric suddenly melting in his excitement. “We sold the envelope alone for four thousand dollars pet. There's only three other of them 1846 Alexandria postmaster's stamps in the world today. So here's your Stonewall letter as good as new.” “My Gawsh!” said old Sally, and fell down upon the floor and rolled and gave praise after the manner of her race, unrebuked this time of her mistress. That aged and grand dame took back the letter with a hand which, for all that it had been rock-firm when it received MacLachan's revolver, now trembled a little. But her sole comment was: “And yet there are those so obstinate and shortsighted as to deny that the spirits guide us for our own good.” Once more, finely embossed stationery came pouring in at No. 17, Our Square, proudly edifying the soul of Mr. Boggs. Once more Madam Tallafferr went forth on missions of social splendor, westward and uptown, sometimes in an automobile. Once more the restored Pemberton diamonds glistened in the fine, withered ears, Old Sally having confessed and been duly beaten and forgiven.