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Updated: May 6, 2025
"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."
John Morgeson, who darkened the threshold of the kitchen door, but advanced no further. I looked at him with curiosity; if he were mad, he might be interesting. He was a large, portly man, over sixty, with splendid black hair slightly grizzled, a prominent nose, and fair complexion. I did not like him, and determined not to speak to him. "Say good-morning, Cassandra," said mother, in a low voice.
"I do wonder, Mis Morgeson, that you do not insist upon it, though it's none of my business." Father was conducted upstairs, after supper. The fire was freshly made; the shaded lamp on the table before the sofa and the easy-chair pleased him. He came often afterward, and stayed so long, sometimes, that I fell asleep, and found him there, when I woke, still smoking and watching the fire.
Then he steered blindly, straining his credit to the utmost; and then the crash. His losses were so extended and gradual that the public were not aware of his condition till he announced it. There was a general exasperation against him. The Morgeson family rose up with one accord to represent the public mind, which drove Veronica wild. "Have you acted wrongly, father?" she asked.
Out with it!" "Something's going to turn up here; something ails Mr. Morgeson." I guess his ailment. "He is going to fail, he is smashed all to nothing. He knows what will be said about him, yet he goes about with perfect calmness. But he feels it. I tried him this morning, I gave him tea instead of coffee, and he didn't know it!" "Margaret's gone?"
We knew that she merely comforted a tender conscience by praising the departed, for whom she had small respect when living. We felt her brightening influence, but Fanny sulked, feeling dethroned. Ben Pickersgill Somers and Veronica Morgeson were "published." Contrary to the usual custom, Verry went to hear her own banns read at the church.
He warned her with a satirical smile, and gave such a pull at the bell-rope that it came down. Her florid face flushed a deeper red, but he had gone. Father looked at his watch, and got up with alacrity. "You are to dine with us, at least, Mr. Morgeson." "I must return to Boston on account of my daughter, who is there alone."
I wondered whether mother had bought the new china in Boston, and, buttering my second hot biscuit, I thought of Veronica; then, of the sea. How did it look? Hark! Its voice was in my ear! Could I climb the housetop? Might I not see the mist which hung over our low-lying sea by Surrey? "Will you take quince or apple jelly, Miss Morgeson?" asked Mrs. Bancroft. "Apple, if you please."
"You are a perfect heathen. There's nothing to be afraid of, except that Mr. Morgeson may walk into a ditch; will a knife keep us out of that?" "Knife is good it kills," he said, showing his white, vegetable-ivory teeth. Verry and I sat up till they returned, at two in the morning. Abram had died about midnight, distressed to the last with worldly cares.
They never thought of inquiring into that matter, so they opposed, with great promptness, father's wish to marry Mary Warren. All, except old Locke Morgeson, his grandfather, who rode over to Barmouth to see her one day, and when he came back told father to take her, offered him half his house to live in, and promised to push him in the world.
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