"And I all about the remarkable disappearance of a gallon of oil in
four days. Kindling the fire with dollar and forty cent oil!"

"Even so!"

"What did you say to her, Mr. Smith?"

"Nothing. But I rather think she'll not want me to look at her
again, the huzzy!"

"Kindling fire with my best sperm oil! Well, I can't get over that!"

Something in this wise I continued to ejaculate, now and then, until
my astonishment fairly wore itself out.

I didn't consider it worth while to say any thing to Hannah when I
went down stairs, thinking it best to let the look my husband spoke
of, do its work. By the way, I don't much wonder that she was
frightened at his look--for he can--But I forgot--I am speaking of
my husband, and he might happen to read this.

Of course, Hannah's days in my house were numbered. No faith was to
be placed in a creature who could so shamefully destroy a useful
article placed in her hands. If she would burn up the oil, it was
but fair to infer that she would as remorselessly make way with
other things. So I parted with her. She begged me to let her stay,
and made all sorts of promises. But I was immovable.

Whether I bettered myself in the change, is somewhat doubtful.