"R-e—" began Aunt Amanda, "s-p-e-c-k—no, that ain't right,—r-e-s—"
"There's one over at that church," said Freddie, pointing towards the window, "and he smokes one, too."
"One what, Freddie?" said Aunt Amanda.
"A Churchwarden. There's a Churchwarden sits out on the pavement and he smokes a Churchwarden, he does." Freddie was rather proud that he had mastered that difficult word, and he liked to hear himself say it.
"Oh," said Toby, "I reckon he means the sextant over there. Well, 'Yours respectfully.' I don't give a—hum!—how you spell it. There she goes. Done. 'Yours respectfully, Toby Littleback.' It's blotted up some, by crackey, that's a fact; but I ain't a-goin' to write all that over again, not by a jugful." And he took out his handkerchief and wiped the perspiration from his forehead.
"He's a Churchwarden," insisted Freddie, swallowing the last of the lemonade after the last of the cake.
"All right," said Toby, "have it your own way. But a sextant's as good as a Churchwarden, in my opinion, any day of the week,—except Sunday, of course."
Aunt Amanda inspected the letter, and declared herself horrified by the blots; but Toby positively refused to go through that exhausting labor again, so she passed
it grudgingly, and handed it to Freddie in an envelope, and told him to give it to his mother as soon as he got home.
"Do you want some more cake and lemonade?" said she.