"Yes, I got it, but if the Postmaster had not been a very good friend of mine, you would never have seen it."
"Why not?" Peace was genuinely amazed. "What right had the Postmaster to my package? Did he want to keep it?"
"He tells me that you issued orders two weeks or more ago not to deliver any more packages to your address."
"He—oh, that was buttons! I didn't mean this kind of packages."
"Buttons!" the President looked even more puzzled.
"O, dear," sighed Peace unhappily. "Now I've got to tell what a silly-pate I've been." So she poured out the tale of the endless chain to the astonished man, ending with the characteristic remark, "And I told the letter-carrier to send all the rest of the button packages to the letter graveyard at Washington, but I s'posed of course he'd bring me packages like this."
"He has no way of distinguishing between them, my dear," the President gravely informed her, trying hard to keep his face straight. "You ordered all parcels addressed to you stopped. You refused to accept them, and there will be no more delivered to you."
"Never?" gasped Peace.
"Well,—not for months and months and months. I don't know exactly how we can get the matter fixed up now."