everything was in its place. "Must make yerselves at home here,"
said Mrs. Trotbridge. "Things, maybe, ain't as nice as yer used to
havin' 'em, but poor folks must do the best they can, and hope
better 'll come."

And while the good woman set about lighting a fire in the great open
fireplace, Major Potter got between two chairs, into each of which
an urchin mounted, with a broom in his hand, and so belabored his
jacket as to fill the room with dust. "The major is always at home
in this house," dryly ejaculated the good woman, taking down her
bellows and commencing to blow the fire.

"I know how to appreciate it, Mrs. Trotbridge, and hope nothing may
come to lengthen the distance between our friendship," returned the
major, shrugging his great broad shoulders, and adding that I could
now go through the process of dusting while he washed his face,
preparatory to listening to how times went with Mrs. Trotbridge. He
had previously ordered the boys to water his chickens, and now,
having at his desire brought in the fish, he presented them to the
hostess with all that pomp and dignity so common with government
employ‚s, who present the heads of departments with services of
plate bought with their own money, and which intolerable nuisance
had its origin among the kings and queens of the buskin. They were,
he slyly intimated, worth seven Massachusetts shillings. The shrewd
fishmonger wanted nine, but, saying I was going to present them to a
dear old friend, he threw off two. No New York alderman ever
received a gold snuff box for abusing his office with more
condescension than did Mrs. Trotbridge the fish so kindly presented
by the major. Saying he was proverbially a modest man, the major
begged she would forego any return of thanks and accept them solely