“Yes, ma’am.”
“That’s better. Well, now the next time you go to the village, Jake, you just tell that postmaster if he keeps back another letter of mine four days, I’ll have him turned out. Do ye hear?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Well, now you may go about your business, and I will go on with my letter.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The man left the room, and the housekeeper resumed her reading:
“‘My Dear Mrs. Anglesea’: I wish she wouldn’t pile that name upon me so! If she knowed how I hated it she wouldn’t. ‘I write to ask you to have the house prepared for our reception on the eighth of June. You will know what is necessary to be done, and you may draw on Mr. Copp for the needful funds. He has instructions to honor your drafts.
“‘The girls expect to grad—grat—gral—gual——’
“Lord ’a’ mercy! what is this word? Can you make it out, Miss Sibby?” inquired the reader, holding the letter under the nose of the visitor.
Miss Bayard, who had resumed her knitting after moderately partaking of cake and cordial, dropped her work, adjusted her spectacles and inspected the word.