n't take it on no
account, only the loss is considerable for me, and Cynthy Ann, she would
have been disapp'inted if so be as I hadn't worn the bunnit. I'd like to
know who it is that I'm so much obligated to."

Henry Morton drew a card from his card-case and handed it with a bow to
Mrs. Payson.

"What's that?" asked the old lady.

"My card."

"Le's see, where's my specs?" said Mrs. Payson, fumbling in her pocket.
"Oh, I've got 'em on. So your name's Herod. What made 'em call you
that?"

"Henry, madam--Henry Morton."

"Well, so 'tis, I declare. You ain't related to Nahum Morton, of Gilead,
be you; he that was put into the State's prison for breakin' open the
Gilead Bank?"

An amused smile overspread the young man's face.

"I never had any relatives sent to the State's prison," he answered;
"though I think it quite possible that some of them may have deserved
it."

"Jest so," assented the old lady. "There's a good deal of iniquity that
never comes to light. I once know'd a woman that killed her husband
with the tongs, and nobody ever surmised it; though everybody thought
it strange that he should disappear so suddint. Well, this woman on her
death-bed owned up to the tongs in a crazy fit that she had. But the
most cur'us part of it," the old lady added rather illogically, "was,
that the man was livin' all the while, and it was all his wife's fancy
that she'd struck him with the tongs."

By this time the "express" had rumbled into the main street of
Rossville, and the old lady had hardly completed her striking
illustration of the truth, that murder will out, before they had drawn
up in front of the tavern.

"Ain't you a-goin' to carry me to my darter's house?" she inquired with
solicitude. "I can't walk noway."

"Yes, ma'am," answered Ajax, "directly, just as soon as this gentleman's
got out, and they've taken the mail."

He tossed the mail-bag to a small boy who stood on the piazza in waiting
to receive it, and then, whipping up his horses, speedily conveyed Mrs.
Payson to her destination.

"He's a very nice, obleeging young man," said the old lady, referring
to Henry Morton. "I wonder ef his mother was a Bent. There's old Micajah
Bent's third daughter, Roxana Jane, married a Morton, or it might have
been a Moulton. Ever see him afore?"

"No, ma'am. Here you are."

"So I be! and there's Reuben at the gate. How are ye all? Jest take this
carpetbag, will ye, and I'll give you a cent some time or 'not