do?"

"I don't know. I'd tell you better, maybe, if I knew who he was."

"Who he was! I'll tell you who he was--is, I mean. He's Balaam Hambleton, that's who he is."

"Humph! Bale Hamilton, hey? Then it's easy enough to say what he does--nothin', most of the time. Is that letter for me?"

"Course it's for you! And it's a week old, what's more. One week ago that letter come in the mail and the postmaster let that--that Hambleton thing take it, 'cause he said he was goin' right by here and could leave it just as well as not. And this very mornin' that freckle-faced boy of his--that George Washin'ton one--what folks give such names to their young ones for _I_ can't see!--he rung the front door bell and yanked me right out of the dish water, and he says his ma found the letter in Balaam's other pants when she was mendin' 'em, and would I please excuse his forgettin' it 'cause he had so much on his mind lately. Mind! Land of love! if he had a thistle top on his mind 'twould smash it flat. Don't talk to me!"

"I won't," drily; "I WON'T, Zuba, I swear it. Let's see the letter."

He bent forward and took the letter from her hand. Then, adjusting his spectacles, he examined the envelope. It was of the ordinary business size and was stamped with the Boston postmark, and a date a week old. Captain Dan looked at the postmark, studied the address, which was in an unfamiliar handwriting, and then turned the envelope over. On the flap was printed "Shepley and Farwell, Attorneys, ----- Devonshire Street." The captain drew a long breath; he leaned back in his chair and sat staring at the envelope.

Azuba wiped the suds from her wet hand and arm upon her apron. Then she wrapped it and the other arm in said apron and coughed. The cough was intended to arouse her employer from the trance into which he had, apparently, fallen. But it was without effect. Captain Daniel did stop staring at the envelope, but he merely transferred his gaze to the ink-spattered blotter and the ledger upon it, and stared at them.

"Well?" observed Azuba.

The captain started. "Hey?" he exclaimed, looking up. "Did you speak?"

"I said 'Well?'. I suppose that's speakin'?"

"'Well?' Well what?"

"Oh, nothin'! I was just wonderin'--"

"Wonderin' what?"

"I was wonderin' if that letter was anything important. Ain't you goin' to open it and see?"

"Hey? Open it? Oh, yes, yes. Well, I shouldn't wonder if I opened it some time or other, Zuba. I gen'rally open my letters. It's a funny habit I have."

"Humph! Well, all right, then. I didn't know. Course, 'tain't none of my business what's in other folks's letters. _I_ ain't nosey, land knows. Nobody can accuse me of--"

"Nobody can accuse you of anything, Zuba. Not even dish washin' just now."

Azuba drew herself up. Outraged dignity and injured pride were expressed in every line of her figure. "Well!" she exclaimed; "WELL! if that ain't--if that don't beat all that ever _I_ heard! Here I leave my work to do folks favors, to fetch and carry for 'em, and this is what I get. Cap'n Dott, I want you to understand that I ain't dependent on nobody for a job. I don't HAVE to slave myself to death for nobody. If you ain't satisfied--"

"There, there, Zuba! I was only jokin'. Don't get mad!"

"Mad! Who's mad, I'd like to know? It takes more'n that to make me mad, I'd have you understand."

"That's good; I'm glad of it. Well, I'm much obliged to you for bringin' the letter."

"You're welcome. Land sakes! I don't mind doin' errands, only I like to have 'em appreciated. And I like jokes well as anybody, but when you tell me--"

"Hold on! don't get het up again. Keep cool, Zuba, keep cool! Think of that dish water; it's gettin' cooler every minute."

The answer to this was an indignant snort followed by the bang of the door. Azuba had gone. Captain Daniel looked after her, smiled faintly, shook his head, and again turned his attention to the letter in his hand. He did not open it immediately. Instead he sat regarding it with the same haggard, hopeless expression which he had worn when he first read the firm's name upon the envelope. He dreaded, perhaps, as much as he had ever dreaded anything in his life, to open that envelope.

He was sure, perfectly sure, what he should find when he did open it. A letter from the legal representatives of Smith and Denton, the Boston hat manufacturers and dealers, stating that, unless the latter's account was paid within the next week, suit for the amount due would be instituted in the courts. A law suit! a law suit for the collection of a debt against him, Daniel Dott, the man who had prided himself upon his honesty! Think of what it would mean! the disgrace of it! the humiliation, not only for himself but for Serena, his wife, and Gertrude, his daughter!

He did not blame Smith and Denton; they had been very kind, very lenient indeed. The thirty-day credit originally given him had been extended to sixty and ninety. They had written him many times, and each time he had written in reply that as soon as collections were better he should be able to pay in full; that he had a good deal of money owed him, and as soon as it came in they should have it. But it did not come in. No wonder, considering that it was owed by the loafers and ne'er-do-wells of the town and surrounding country, who, because no one else would trust them, bestowed their custom upon good-natured, gullible Captain Dan. The more recent letters from the hat dealers had been sharper and less kindly. They had ceased to request; they demanded. At last they had threatened. And now the threat was to be fulfilled.

The captain laid the envelope down upon the open ledger, rose, and, going to the front of the store, carefully closed the door. Then, going to the door communicating with the other half of the store, he made sure that no one was in the adjoining room. He had a vague feeling that all the eyes in Trumet were regarding him with suspicion, and he wished to shut out their accusing gaze. He wanted to be alone when he read that letter. He had half a mind to take it to the cellar and open it there.

His fingers shook as he tore the end from the envelope. They shook still more as he drew forth the enclosure, a typewritten sheet, and held it to the light. He read it through to the end. Then, with a loud exclamation, almost a shout, he rushed to the side door, flung it open and darted across the yard, the letter fluttering from his fingers like a flag. The store was left unguarded, but he forgot that.

He stumbled up the steps into the kitchen. Azuba, a saucer in one hand and the dish towel in the other, was, to say the least, startled. As she expressed it afterward, "the everlastin' soul was pretty nigh scart out of her." The saucer flew through the air and lit upon the top of the cookstove.

"What--what--what--" stammered Azuba. "Oh, my land! WHAT is it?"

"Where's Serena?" demanded Captain Daniel, paying no attention to the saucer, except to tread upon the fragments.

"Hey? Oh, what IS it? Is the store afire?"

"No, no! Where's Serena?"

"She--she--what--"

"Where's SERENA, I ask you?"

"In her room, I cal'late. For mercy sakes, what--"

But the captain did not answer. Through dining-room, sitting-room, and parlor he galloped, and up the front stairs to the bedroom occupied by himself and wife. Mrs. Dott was standing before the mirror, red-faced and panting, both arms behind her and her fingers busily engaged. Her husband's breath was almost gone by the time he reached the foot of the stairs; consequently his entrance was a trifle less noisy and startling than his sky-rocket flight through the kitchen. It is doubtful if his wife would have noticed even if it had been. She caught a glimpse of him in the mirror, and heaved a sigh of relief.

"Oh, it's you, is it!" she panted. "My, I'm glad! For mercy sakes fasten those last three hooks; I'm almost distracted with 'em."

But the hooks remained unfastened for the time. Captain Dan threw himself into a chair and waved the letter.

"Serena," he cried, puffing like a stranded porpoise, "what--WHAT do you suppose has happened? Aunt Laviny is dead."

Serena turned. "Dead!" she repeated. "Your Aunt Lavinia Dott? The rich one?"

"Yes, sir; she's gone. Died in Italy a fortnight ago. Naples, I think 'twas--or some such outlandish place; you know she's done nothin' but cruise around Europe ever since Uncle Jim died. The letter says she was taken sick on a Friday, and died Sunday, so 'twas pretty sudden. I--"

But Mrs. Dott interrupted. "What else does it say?" she asked excitedly. "What else does that letter say? Who is if from?"

"It's from her lawyers up to Boston. What made you think it said anything else?"

"Because I'm not blind and I can see your face, Daniel Dott. What