out o' my way, before I twist your neck for you!"

The first part of this oration was delivered by Miss Nancy Skamp, to
some half-dozen negro grooms who were cooling their shins while waiting
for the mail, before she closed the doors and windows of the
post-office; the second part was addressed to Chizzle, her little negro
waiter--and the third concluding sentence, emphasized by a smart kick,
was bestowed upon poor Molly, the mottled cat. The village post-office
was kept in the lower front room of the little lonely house on the hill,
occupied by the solitary spinster.

The mail-bags were stuffed remarkably full, and there were several
wonderful letters, that she felt it her duty to open and read before
sending to their owners.

"Let's see," said the worthy postmistress, as she sorted the letters in
her hand. "What's this? oh! a double letter for Colonel Thornton--pshaw!
that's all about political stuff! Who cares about reading that? I don't!
He may have it to-night if he wants it! Stop! what's this? Lors! it's a
thribble letter for--for Marian Mayfield! And from furrin parts, too!
Now I wonder--(Can't you stop that caterwauling out there?" she said,
raising her voice. "Sposen you niggers were to wait till I open the
office. I reckon you'd get your letters just as soon.) Who can be
writing from furrin parts to Marian Mayfield? Ah! I'll keep this and
read it before Miss Marian gets it."

When Miss Nancy had closed up for the night she took out the letter
directed to Marian, opened, and began to read it. And as she read her
eyes and mouth grew wider and wider with astonishment, and her wonder
broke forth in frequent exclamations of: "M--y conscience! Well now!
Who'd a dreamt of it! Pity but I'd a let Solomon court her when he
wanted to--but Lors! how did I ever know that she'd--M--y conscience!"
etc., etc.

Her fit of abstraction was at last broken by a smart rap at the door.

She started and turned pale, like the guilty creature that she was.

The rap was repeated sharply.

She jumped up, hustled the purloined letters and papers out of sight,
and stood waiting.

The rap was reiterated loudly and authoritatively.

"Who's that?" she asked, trembling violently.

"It's me, Aunt Nancy! Do for goodness' sake don't keep a fellow out here
in the storm till he's nearly perished. It's coming on to hail and snow
like the last judgment!"

"Oh! it's you, is it, Sol? I didn't know but what it was--Do, for
mercy's sake do