"Oh! you shocking old fye-for-shame! I said no such thing! I said, Thurston! Come! Jump in the sleigh and go home with us.'" "It makes little difference, madam! The meaning was the same. I will not be responsible for a literal report. You are discovered." "What does that mean? If it means you have discovered that I mistook you for Thurston Willcoxen, you ought to 'walk on thrones' the rest of your life! You never got such a compliment before, and never will again!" "Aye! go on, madam! You and your conniving aunt--" "Dr. Grimshaw, if you dare to say or hint such impertinence to me again, you shall leave your seat much more quickly than you took it," said Mrs. Waugh. "We shall see, madam!" said the professor, and he lapsed into sullenness for the remainder of the drive. But, oh! there was one in that sleigh upon whose heart the words of wild Jacko had fallen with cruel weight-Marian! CHAPTER XXII. PETTICOAT DISCIPLINE. When the sulky sleighing party reached Luckenough they found Commodore Waugh not only up and waiting, but in the highest state of self-satisfaction, a blessing of which they received their full share of benefit, for the old man, in the overflowing of his joy, had ordered an oyster supper, which was now all ready to be served smoking hot to the chilled and hungry sleigh-riders. "I wonder what's out now?" said Jacquelina, as she threw off her wrappings, scattering them heedlessly on the chairs and floor of the hall. "Some awful calamity has overtaken some of Uncle Nick's enemies. Nothing on earth but that ever puts him into such a jolly humor. Now we'll see! I wonder if it is a 'crowner's 'quest' case? Wish it was Grim." Mrs. Henrietta blessed her stars for the good weather, without inquiring very closely where it came from, as she conducted Marian to a bedroom to lay off her bonnet and mantle. It was only at the foot of his own table, after ladling out and serving around the stewed oysters "hot and hot," that the commodore, rubbing his hands, and smiling until his great face was as grotesque as a nutcracker's, announced that Miss Nancy Skamp was turned out of office--yea, discrowned, unsceptred, dethroned, and that Harry Barnwell reigned in her stead. The news had come in that evening's mail! All present breathed more freely--all felt an inexpressible relief in knowing that the post-office would henceforth be above suspicion, and their letters and papers safe from, desecration. Only Marian said: "What will become of the poor old creature?" "By St. Judas Iscariot, that's her business." "No, indeed, I think it is ours; some provision should be made for her, Commodore Waugh." "I'll recommend her to the trustees of the almshouse, Miss Mayfield." Marian thought it best not to pursue the subject then, but resolved to embrace the first opportunity of appealing to the commodore's smothered chivalry in behalf of a woman, old, poor, feeble, and friendless.