and arranged in sideboards and cupboards; and bed and table linen to be unpacked and put into drawers and closets; and the children’s beds to be aired and made up; and mamma’s own chamber and nursery made ready for her; and, last of all, for the evening that they are expected to arrive, a nice delicate supper got.  Now, who was there to attend to all this but me?” questioned Beatrice, looking gravely into Ishmael’s face.  And as she waited for an answer, Ishmael replied: 

“Why—­failing your mamma, your papa might have done it, without any derogation from his manly dignity.  When General Washington was in Philadelphia, during his first Presidential term, with all the cares of the young nation upon his shoulders, he superintended the fitting up of his town house for the reception of Mrs. Washington; descending even to the details of hanging curtains and setting up mangles!”

Beatrice laughed, as she said: 

“Law, Ishmael! haven’t you got over your habit of quoting your heroes yet?  And have you really faith enough to hope that modern men will come up to their standard?  Of course, George Washington was equal to every human duty from the conquering of Cornwallis to—­the crimping of a cap-border, if necessary! for he was a miracle!  But my papa, God bless him, though wise and good, is but a man, and would no more know how to perform a woman’s duties than I should how to do a man’s!  What should he know of china-closets and linen chests?  Why, Ishmael, he doesn’t know fi’penny bit cotton from five shilling linen, and would have been as apt as not to have ordered the servants’ sheets on the children’s beds and vice versa; and for mamma’s supper he would have been as likely to have fried pork as the broiled spring chickens that I shall provide!  No, Ishmael; gentlemen may be great masters in Latin and Greek; but they are dunces in housekeeping matters.”

“As far as your experience goes, Bee.”

“Of course, as far as my experience goes.”

“When did you reach Rushy Shore, Bee?”

“Last night about seven o’clock.  Matty came with me in the carriage, and Jason drove us.  We spent all day in unpacking and arranging the things that had been sent down on the ‘Canvas Back’ a week or two ago.  And this afternoon I thought I would walk over here and see what sort of a school you had.  Papa read your letter to us, and we were all interested in your success here.”

“Thank you, dear Bee; I know that you are all among my very best friends; and some of these days, Bee, I hope, I trust, to do credit to your friendship.”

“That you will, Ishmael!  What do you think my papa told my uncle Merlin?—­that ’that young man (meaning you) was destined to make his mark on this century.’”

A deep blush of mingled pleasure, bashfulness, and aspiration mantled Ishmael’s delicate face.  He bowed with sweet, grave courtesy, and changed the subject of conversation by saying: