People sometimes make mistakes in directing their letters, and then
they have to go to the dead-letter office," suggested Captain Fishley.

"Ethan didn't make no mistake. 'Tain't like him to make mistakes. Do you
think Ethan don't know where I live?"

"I don't know anything about it, only that the letter isn't here."

"Dear suz! What shall I do? When a body's made up her mind to go, it's
desp'ate aggravatin' not to go."

At this trying juncture, Squire Fishley interposed, and, after some
inquiries in regard to the responsibility of the parties, suggested that
his brother should lend the lady money enough to enable her to make her
journey.

"I'd be much obleeged to you, Captain Fishley, if you'd do it," said
Miss Larrabee, delighted with the suggestion. "I shan't be gone more'n
a month, and when I come back I'll hand it to you. That letter must come
to-day or to-morrow, and if you have a mind to, you can open it, and
take the money out. It will save me the interest."

"But suppose the letter has gone to the dead-letter office?" added the
postmaster.

"Sakes alive! I've got money enough to pay it, if the letter is lost.
Why, Ethan's got more'n 'leven hundred dollars that belongs to me."

"All right, Miss Larrabee," replied Captain Fishley, as he took out the
money, and wrote a note for the amount.

The worthy maiden of many summers put on her spectacles, signed the
note, and counted the money. She was happy again, for the journey was
not to be deferred. I think Ham was as glad to have her go as she was to
go. I could not help watching him very closely after his father and the
squire left the store, to observe how he carried himself in his course
of deception and crime. I had never known him to whistle so much before,
and I regarded it as the stimulus he used in keeping up his
self-possession.

"What are you staring at me for, Buck Bradford?" demanded he, as I stood
gazing across the counter at him.

"A cat may look at the king," I replied, stung by the harsh words, after
I had cherished so many kind feelings towards him, though I forgot that
I had not expressed them, since the affray on the road.

"Do I owe you anything?"

"No, you don't owe me anything."

"Yes, I do. I owe you something on last night's account, and I'm going
to pay it too," he added, shaking his head at me in a threatening
manner.

I did not like his style, and not wishing to make a disturbance in the
store, I said nothing. I walked up