CHAPTER XIII.
I was preaching one day to mother and Aunt Merce a sermon after the manner of Mr.Boold, of Barmouth, taking the sofa for a desk, and for my text "Like David's Harp of solemn sound," and had attracted Temperance and Charles into the room by my declamation, when my audience was unexpectedly increased by the entrance of father, with a strange gentleman.

Aunt Merce laughed hysterically; I waved my hand to her, _a la_ Boold, and descended from my position.
"Take a chair," said Temperance, who was never abashed, thumping one down before the stranger.
"What is all this ?" inquired father.
"Only a _Ranz des Vaches_, father, to please Aunt Merce." The stranger's eyes were fastened upon me, while father introduced us to "Mr.Charles Morgeson, of Rosville." "Please receive me as a relative," he said, turning to shake hands with mother.

"We have an ancestor in common that makes a sufficient cousinship for a claim, Mrs.Morgeson." "Why not have looked us up before ?" I asked.
"Why," said Veronica, who had just come in, "there are six Charles Morgesons buried in our graveyard." "I supposed," he said, "that the name was extinct.

I lately saw your father's in a State Committee List, and feeling curious regarding it, I came here." He bowed distantly to Veronica when she entered, but she did not return his bow, though she looked at him fixedly.

Temperance and Hepsey hurried up a fine supper immediately.