“Well, she died,--rest her soul!--and Parsloe too. But they had a daughter, and she survives them.” “And resembles her mother, eh?--No, Trednoke, the time for that sort of thing has gone by with me. Susan might have had me, five-and-forty years ago; but I can’t undertake to revive my passion for the benefit of Mrs. Parsloe’s daughter. Besides, I’m too busy to think of marriage, and not--not old enough!” At this tour de force, the general laughed softly, and finished his coffee. An old Indian, somewhat remarkable in appearance, with shaggy white hair hanging down on his shoulders, stepped forward from the room where he had been waiting, and removed the cup. “No letters yet, Kamaiakan?” asked the general, in Spanish. “In a few minutes, general,” the other replied. “Pablo has just come in sight over the hill. There were several errands.” “Muy buen!--I was going to say, Meschines, her father and mother left the girl poor, and she, being, apparently, clever and energetic, took to----” “I know!” the professor interrupted. “They all do it, when they are clever and energetic, and that’s the end of them!--School-teaching!” “Not at all,” returned General Trednoke. “She entered a dry-goods store.” “Entered a dry-goods store! Well, there’s nothing so extraordinary in that. I’ve seen quantities of women do it, of all ages, colors, and degrees. What did she buy there?” “Oh, a fiddlestick!” exclaimed the general. “Why don’t you keep quiet and listen to my story? I say, she went into a great dry-goods store in New York, as sales-woman.” “Bless my soul! You don’t mean a shop-girl?” “That’s what I said, isn’t it? And why not?” “Oh, well!--but, shade of Susan Brown! Ichabod!--what is the feminine of Ichabod, by the way, Trednoke? But, seriously, it’s too bad. Susan may have been fickle, but she was always aristocratic. And now her daughter is a shop-girl. You and I are avenged!”