Uncle Peter, who had a high opinion of Sally's abilities, always did his best to converse as she directed, but in her "inspired days" even he became utterly confounded, and once when in one of her lofty strains, she had labored hard to impress upon him the all-important fact that _adjectives_ are frequently changed into _adverbs_ by the suffix "ly," the old man, quite out of his wits with his efforts to understand and profit by her teachings, was guilty of a laughable blunder. "Uncle Peter," said she, "did you notice how unusually funnily Miss Grundy's wig was arranged at dinner to-day?" Thinking that he fully understood the reply which he was expected to make, and anxious to make amends for his former stupidity, Uncle Peter promptly replied, "No, madam I did not-_ly_.'" The look of horror which Sally's face assumed, convinced Uncle Peter that he had failed in his attempts at speaking grammatically, and with a sudden determination never again to try, he precipitately left the house, and for the next two hours amused himself by playing "Bruce's Address" upon his old cracked fiddle. From that time Sal gave up all hopes of educating Uncle Peter, and confined herself mostly to literary efforts, of which we shall speak hereafter. The night following Sal's first acquaintance with Mary, Alice cried until nearly day dawn. The milk which Miss Grundy's stinginess allowed her, was not particularly conducive to her health, and besides that, she missed the invigorating bath to which she had been accustomed during her mother's lifetime. Mary had spoken of it two or three times, but Miss Grundy only jerked her shoulders, saying, "she guessed she wasn't going to have such a slush around the house. You can bring her down," said she, "to the sink, and pump as much water on her as you like;" so Mary said no more about it until the night of which we have spoken, and then she determined on making one more effort. But her heart almost failed her, when, on entering the kitchen, she saw how the chairs and Miss Grundy's shoulders danced round. She well knew that something was wrong, and attributing it to Alice's crying, she awaited in silence for the storm to burst. "Rind," said Miss Grundy to the girl with crooked feet, who was washing the milk-pail, "ain't there nary spare room in the dark passage?" "None but the wool room, as I know on," was Rind's sullen response. "Well, wool room 'tis then,--for, as for my being kep' awake night after night, by a good for nothin' young one, that hain't no business here, any way, I shan't do it. So (speaking to Mary) you may just pick up your duds and move this very morning." "Going to put 'em in with the wool?" asked Rind, suspending operations, and holding up the pail so that the water ran out of the spout. "You shet up," said Miss Grundy, "and wait until you're invited to speak. Goodness alive, look at that slop! Tip up the pail, quick."