On this day, so distinguished in the life of his hero, Peter not only brought along from the boat quite a number of parcels, but he had also a weighty cargo of news, which he had gathered on his way back. After giving Lady Morris, as he always styled her, the first of the tidings, he hastened to the Commodore's as fast as his crutches would carry him.
It was a warm afternoon, and the Commodore was seated in his veranda on the shady side of the house, enjoying the cooling view of the expanse of water spread out before him, and the gentle breeze that scarce moved the long branches of the willow that hung above and around him, when he heard the well-known sound of the crutches stumping along the hard gravel path at double quick time. Peter was so much out of breath, and so excited with what he had to tell, that after he had reached the stoop and taken off his hat, and smoothed down his queue and made several obeisances, he could only stammer out,
'Your honor—'
The Commodore looked at him with no little surprise, for the preparation Peter had made betokened quite a long yarn.
'A warm day, Peter.'
'Very, your honor;' and Peter fumbled away at his queue, and twisted his quid to all sides of his mouth.
'You are out of breath, Peter; what is the haste to-day? any news stirring?'
'Great news, your honor, great news.'
'Is war declared, or has the comet lost its tail? let me hear; out with it, Peter.'
'No war, your honor, God forbid: and I guess the comet is whizzing away yet, though we can't see him by daylight; but your honor knows that picture of a house up along the bank there—'