“However,” said I, in finale, “you may take it from me that the Eatons will be blithe to receive you on any evening you should care to call. There need be no formality; you may pull their latch-string at any hour with every assurance of a welcome.” “Can not you take me there this evening?” he asked, with a kind of enthusiasm. “I am only too pleased to be of service.” The fair truth is I could have hugged the little secretary from gladness for Peg. That same night, when later I paid my usual visit to the General for a friendly pipe and to finish the day in smoke before we went to bed, I told him of Van Buren's waiting on Peg. The pleasure the news gave him fell across his face like sunlight. But he carried himself in ordinary fashion. “Why, sir,” said he, “I'm glad that he has been to see the Eatons. Still, no less could have been looked for from a gentleman.” “But he did better,” I said. “Never have I heard more delicate compliment than he offered to Peg. He says she shall preside at his house for those functions which belong with his position.” “And that, since he has no wife, will be a vast convenience for him,” responded the General; “this pouring of his guests' tea by our beautiful Peg.” The General would accept it as a matter of course, but I tell you the tidings of that tea-pouring warmed the cockles of his heart. For myself, I made no effort to hide my satisfaction. “Is it not a strange thing,” said the General, after a bit, “how one's first impression will go astray? Who could be more true, or more wise, or better bred or founded in whatever makes for the best in a man, than our Van Buren? And yet I thought him sly, and with a hand for selfish design. The man's as simple as a child!” “He tells me,” I remarked, “that your friend Hoyt of this region warned him you did not like him, and how your great favorite was Calhoun.” “Hoyt is a presumptuous fool,” returned the General, hotly. “I would not give Van Buren's finger for Calhoun. Why should he be favorite of mine who foments treason, and schemes to split the nation like a billet of wood!” Peg was with me betimes next morning to jubilate with dancing pulses over Van Buren to her house the night before. “For can't you see,” she cried, her cheeks red with the excitement that crowed in her breast, “what a strategic point, as you sons of war would term it,”--Peg was laughing here--“is your little, round, smooth Secretary of State? He carries the grand legation folk in his wake. With them, all ribbons and orders, and the army--for the latter will be bound to us since we are the war department--our receptions should be a blaze of glory and gold braid.” Here Peg clapped her hands with the glee of it. It was an inspiration to see her so gay. “I am overcome of delight,” I said, mocking gravity, “to know that we are like to gain so much of ornamentation.” Then, changing my tone: “But of a truth, my little one, I shall forever love our State Secretary for your sweet sake.”