“We can do that,” said Mr. Silas Peckham.  “But I don’t propose mater’lly alterin’ Miss Darley’s dooties.  I don’t think she works to hurt herself.  Some of the Trustees have proposed interdoosin’ new branches of study, and I expect you will be pooty much occoopied with the dooties that belong to your place.  On the Sahbath you will be able to attend divine service three times, which is expected of our teachers.  I shall continoo myself to give Sahbath Scriptur’ readin’s to the young ladies.  That is a solemn dooty I can’t make up my mind to commit to other people.  My teachers enjoy the Lord’s day as a day of rest.  In it they do no manner of work, except in cases of necessity or mercy, such as fillin’ out diplomas, or when we git crowded jest at the end of a term, or when there is an extry number of p’oopils, or other Providential call to dispense with the ordinance.”

Mr. Bernard had a fine glow in his cheeks by this time,—­doubtless kindled by the thought of the kind consideration Mr. Peckham showed for his subordinates in allowing them the between meeting-time on Sundays except for some special reason.  But the morning was wearing away; so he went to the schoolroom, taking leave very properly of his respected principal, who soon took his hat and departed.

Mr. Peckham visited certain “stores” or shops, where he made inquiries after various articles in the provision-line, and effected a purchase or two.  Two or three barrels of potatoes, which had sprouted in a promising way, he secured at a bargain.  A side of feminine beef was also obtained at a low figure.  He was entirely satisfied with a couple of barrels of flour, which, being invoiced “slightly damaged,” were to be had at a reasonable price.

After this, Silas Peckham felt in good spirits.  He had done a pretty stroke of business.  It came into his head whether he might not follow it up with a still more brilliant speculation.  So he turned his steps in the direction of Colonel Sprowle’s.

It was now eleven o’clock, and the battle-field of last evening was as we left it.  Mr. Peckham’s visit was unexpected, perhaps not very well timed, but the Colonel received him civilly.

“Beautifully lighted,—­these rooms last night!” said Mr. Peckham.  “Winter-strained?”

The Colonel nodded.

“How much do you pay for your winter-strained?”

The Colonel told him the price.

“Very hahnsome supper,—­very hahnsome.  Nothin’ ever seen like it in Rockland.  Must have been a great heap of things leftover.”

The compliment was not ungrateful, and the Colonel acknowledged it by smiling and saying, “I should think the’ was a trifle?  Come and look.”

When Silas Peckham saw how many delicacies had survived the evening’s conflict, his commercial spirit rose at once to the point of a proposal.