ve ear:
"Pewee! pewee! peer!"

* * * * *

MRS. LEWIS.

A STORY IN THREE PARTS.

PART II.

VI.

In due time we found our way, through deafening clatter, to Miss Post's
door, a little below the Astor House, and in the midst of all that
female feet the soonest seek. In Maiden Lane and on Broadway it was easy
to find all that a Weston fancy painted in the shape of dry goods; and I
did my errands up with conscientious speed before indulging in a
fashionable lounge on the Battery.

The first twenty-four hours were full of successive surprises, which
ought to have been chronicled on the spot and at the time. They affected
me like electric shocks; but in a day or two I forgot to be surprised at
the queer Dutch signs over the shops and the swine in the streets. Now I
only remember the oddity of Miss Post's poverty in the water-line; and
that she had to buy fresh water by the gallon and rain-water by the
barrel. Also, the faithlessness of the two brilliant black boys who
waited on table and at the door, and who couldn't be depended on to
take up a bundle or carry a message to your room, so unmitigatedly
wicked were they.

"If I owned 'em," said Miss Post to me, confidentially, "I would have
'em whipped every day of their lives. It's what they need, and can't do
without. They're just like bad children!"

That was true enough. However, she didn't own them, and got very little
out of them but show; and they looked like princes, with their white
aprons and jackets, and their glittering, haughty eyes. They played with
their duties, and disdained all directions. I used to follow them with
my eyes at the table with amused astonishment. It was very grand, and,
as the Marchioness says, "If you made believe a good deal," reminded one
of barbaric splendor, and Tippoo Saib. But poor Miss Post couldn't order
an elephant to tread their heads off, or she would have extinguished her
household twice a day. I looked back with a feeling of relief to Weston,
and my good Polly, who would scorn to be an eye-servant or men-pleaser.

At the long table, where sat Mr. and Mrs. Jones, Mr. and Mrs. Smith, Mr.
and Mrs. Bennett, Babbit, and so on, I looked sharply for Mr. and Mrs.
Lewis. But neither was there the first day. All the people were
childless and desolate-looking, though much bedecked with braids and
curls, which ladies wore at that time without stint. Nobody looked as if
she could be Mr. Lewi