The oldest daughter acted as a kind of moderator with the others.
"Mary is the constable of this house, with power to arrest and hale into court for undue haste or rebellion or impoliteness," Mr.Hacket explained.
"I believe that Sally Dunkelberg is your friend," he said to me presently.
"Yes, sir," I answered.
"A fine slip of a girl that and a born scholar.

I saw you look at her as the Persian looks at the rising sun." I blushed and Mary and her mother and the boy John looked at me and laughed.
"_Puer pulcherrime!_" Mr.Hacket exclaimed with a kindly smile.
Uncle Peabody would have called it a "stout snag." The schoolmaster had hauled it out of his brain very deftly and chucked it down before me in a kind of challenge.
"What does that mean ?" I asked.
"You shall know in a week, my son," he answered.

"I shall put you into the Latin class Wednesday morning, and God help you to like it as well as you like Sally." Again they laughed and again I blushed.
"Hold up yer head, my brave lad," he went on.

"Ye've a perfect right to like Sally if ye've a heart to." He sang a rollicking ballad of which I remember only the refrain: _A lad in his teens will never know beans if he hasn't an eye for the girls_.
It was a merry supper, and when it ended Mr.Hacket rose and took the green chair from the table, exclaiming: "Michael Henry, God bless you!" Then he kissed his wife and said: "Maggie, you wild rose of Erin! I've been all day in the study.

I must take a walk or I shall get an exalted abdomen.