He kind of woke up then, and passes the envelope over to me.

"Barzilla," he says, "what in time do you s'pose that is?"

'Twas a queer looking envelope, more'n the average length fore and aft,
but kind of scant in the beam. There was a puddle of red sealing wax on
the back of it with a "D" in the middle, and up in one corner was a kind
of picture thing in colors, with some printing in a foreign language
underneath it. I b'lieve 'twas what they call a "coat-of-arms," but it
looked more like a patchwork comforter than it did like any coat ever
_I_ see. The envelope was addressed to "Captain Jonadab Wixon, Orham,
Mass."

I took my turn at twisting the thing around, and then I hands it back to
Jonadab.

"I pass," I says. "Where'd you get it?"

"'Twas in my box," says he. "Must have come in to-night's mail."

I didn't know the mail was sorted, but when he says that I got up and
went over and unlocked my box, just to show that I hadn't forgot how,
and I swan to man if there wa'n't another envelope, just like Jonadab's,
except that 'twas addressed to "Barzilla Wingate."

"Humph!" says I, coming back to the stove; "you ain't the only one
that's heard from the Prince of Wales. Look here!"

He was the most surprised man, but one, on the Cape: I was the one. We