n followed me a step or two, and seemed as if he
wanted to say something; but that was a familiarity I had no idea of
encouraging; so I passed on, determined to find the other kitchen
departments, and set up a private investigation of my own. But at the
foot of a flight of stairs, all made of spotted marble, I met Cousin
Dempster, who was looking for me.

"Oh, here you are at last! Where on earth have you been?"

"In the kitchen and dining-room, so far," says I.

"Kitchen--dining-room!" says he. "Oh! you have been into the
restaurant--not alone, I hope."

"Oh, yes," says I; "there was plenty of company; but the cooking is
enough to try a person."

"Why, did you order refreshments?"

"Refreshments were offered to me," says I, "and I accepted them, as a
free-born American woman has a right to do at her country's table."

"What are you talking about?" says Cousin Dempster, almost angry. "What
is that in your hand?"

"A bit of paper that the young man gave me as I came out," says I.

"But you should have given this up," says he, turning red.

"What for?" says I.

"Did you pay nothing?"

"Pay! of course not. Who ever thinks of paying anything to the
Government?"

"You do not understand."

"What?"

"You have been into a restaurant," says he.

"That's more than I know of, never having been in one in my born days."

"And have come away with this!"

"Look a-here, Cousin Dempster," says I; "does this great nation keep a
boarding-house, or a tavern, in its Capitol? That's what I want to know.
Do you think I mean to insult the country I was born in?"

"It keeps a restaurant for the accommodation of members," says he, "and
you've been in it. Just give me that check; the country don't feed its
statesmen--at any rate, directly."

I gave him the square bit of paper, and, when he left me alone, just sat
down on those marble steps and waited.

I don't wonder these investigating committees want to shirk their
duties. I, being only a committee of one, and self-constituted, feel as
if I'd had quite enough of exploring downstairs. But what on earth
Cousin Dempster is making such a fuss about, I have no idea. One would
think there was something dreadful on that square piece of paper by the
way he acted; but he's like everybody else, I suppose, when he gets to
Washington, and can't make himself more than half understood on any
subject.

XLIV.

MARBLE HALLS.

Dear sisters:--In my last report I gave you a