“Now, the widow wants to see the letter and the parcel—the outside of them, I mean.”
“Well, there is no objection,” said the squire. And he made a move to reach his valise.
But Le hastily anticipated him and brought it.
The kind-hearted squire unlocked the case, found the letter and the parcel, and gave them into the hands of the young waitress.
“Oo! Thanky’, sir. Thanky’, ma’am. Thanky’,” she said, and continued to say, bobbing courtesies, and turning over and staring at the letter and the parcel as she took them out of the room.
“Wynnette, my dear, you find out everything; but you have missed your vocation. You ought to have been a newspaper correspondent or a detective.”
“I know it, papa. I know it!” exclaimed the girl, with a very demonstrative sigh. “And that’s the complaint with most of us. We’re nearly all out of place, and therefore in pain, like dislocated limbs. And that’s what’s the matter with humanity. Almost all its members are put out of joint.”
The rich glow of the summer sunset was slowly fading from the west.
Lights were brought in by the factotum, Jonah, who placed two on the tea table, and then proceeded to light the two that stood upon the mantelpiece.
Having done this, the man stood waiting orders.