“None.”

“Perhaps Hannah ordered some?”

“No.  I had a ham sent home, and told her to have a slice of that broiled for breakfast.”

“I don’t know what to make of it.  Every now and then that same smell comes up through the register—­particularly in the morning.  I’ll bet a sixpence there’s some old fish tub in the cellar of which she’s made kindling.”

“That may be it,” said I.

And, for want of a better reason, we agreed, for the time being, upon that hypothesis.

At the end of another four days, word came up that our best sperm oil, for which we paid a dollar and forty cents a gallon, was out again.

“Impossible!” I ejaculated.

“But it is mum,” said Hannah.  “There’s not a scrimption left—­not so much as the full of a thimble.”

“You must be mistaken.  A gallon of oil has never been burned in this house in four days.”

“We burned the other gallon in four days,” said Hannah, with provoking coolness.  “The evenings are very long, and we have a great many lights.  There’s the parlor light, and the passage light, and the—­”

“It’s no use for you to talk, Hannah,” I replied, interrupting her.  “No use in the world.  A gallon of oil in four days has never gone by fair means in this house.  So don’t try to make me believe it—­for I won’t.  I’m too old a housekeeper for that.”

Finding that I was not to be convinced, Hannah became angry, and said something about her not being a “thafe.”  I was unmoved by this, however; and told her, with as much sternness of manner as I could assume, that I should hold her responsible for any future waste of the article; and that if she did not feel inclined to remain on such terms, she had better go.

“Dade, thin, and I’ll go to onst,” was the girl’s spirited answer.

“Very well, Hannah.  You are your own mistress in this respect,” said I, coolly.  “I’m not in the least troubled about filling your place; nor fearful of getting one who will waste a gallon of oil in four days.”

Hannah retired from my presence in high indignation, and I fully expected that she would desert my house forthwith.  But, no; unlike some others of her class, she knew when she had a good place, and had sense enough to keep it as long as she could stay.

In due time she cooled off, and I heard no more about her getting another place.

“There’s that fishy smell again!” exclaimed my husband, as he arose up in bed one morning, a day or two afterwards, and snuffed the air.  “And, as I live, the fire in the heater is all out again!  I’ll have some light on this subject, see if I don’t.”

And he sprung upon the floor, at the same time hurriedly putting on his dressing gown and a pair of slippers.

“Where are you going?” said I, seeing him moving towards the door.

“To find out where this fishy smell comes from,” he replied, disappearing as he spoke.