"Little girl, you know Adm'ral All'son, don't you?—the old gen'leman that bosses all you young ones when you digs sand-wells?"
"Of course I do; he's one of my best friends."
"Well, I've got lots to do this mornin', an' I don't see how I'm goin' to git through. Don't you want to give this letter to him for me?"
"Certainly."
"You won't forgit it, will you?"
"Oh, no; I'm not of the forgettin' kind." And Trixy took the letter, forgetting for the moment that the Admiral had gone to Washington. Then she hurried back to the hotel, got the mail, and went into her mother's room, saying:
"Let me open the letters for you, won't you, like papa does?"
"Yes, but do it quickly," said Trif, first selecting one from her husband, which she quickly read and re-read. Then she took the others, after Trixy had cut the ends of the envelopes, and glanced over them, commenting as she read:
"H'm—nothing unusual. Mrs. Poynce's cards, the Misses Brimling's tea, on Thursday next—I shall be sorry to miss it; invitation to a spring opening, and—oh!"