"Yes, here is an 'Assessors' Notice,' and an 'Assignee's Notice,' and a 'Contractors' Notice;' but you do not care anything about them. And here is an 'Auction Notice.'"
"What auction? Read it, my love."
"Why, the late old Mr. Gardner's farm-house, and all his furniture, are to be sold at auction. And here is a notice of a meeting of the Directors of the Pentucket Bank, to be held this very afternoon."
"I am very glad to have learned of it, for I must be there. Is that all?"
"All?—no, indeed! Here are some long articles, full of Whereases, and Resolved's, and Be it enacted's; but I know you will excuse me from reading them. And now for the advertisements: Here is a fine new lot of Chenie-de-Laines, 'just received' at Grosvenor's—oh, pa! do let me have a new dress, won't you?"
"No, I can't—at least, I do not see how I can. But if you will promise to read my paper through patiently for the future, and will prepare my valise for my journey to Boston, I will see what I may do. Meantime I must be off to the directors' meeting. And now let me remind you that two items, at least, in this paper, have been of much importance to me; and one, it seems, somewhat interesting to you. So no more fretting about the Chronicle, if you want a new gown."
Mr. Wheeler left the room, and Angeline seated herself at the work-table, to repair his vest. She was sorry she had fretted so much about the Chronicle; but she did wish her father would take the "Ladies' Companion," or something else, in its stead.
While seated there, her little brother came running into the room, all out of breath, and but just able to gasp out, "Oh, Lina! there is a man at the Central House, who has just stopped in the stage, and he is going right on to Kentucky, and straight through the town where Alfred lives, for I heard him say so; and I asked him if he would carry anything for us, and he said, 'Yes, willingly.' So I ran home as fast as I could come, to tell you to write a note, or do up a paper, or something, because he will be so sure to get it—and right from us, too, as fast as it can go. Now do be quick, or the stage will start off."
"Oh, dear me," exclaimed Angeline, "how I do wish we had a New York Mirror, or a Philadelphia Courier, or a Boston Gazette, or anything but this stupid Chronicle! Do look, Jimmy! is there nothing in this pile of papers?"
"No, nothing that will do—so fold up the Chronicle, quick, for the stage is starting."