y and Temperance were at
hand, the men came for orders, and it was convenient for the boy to
transmit the local intelligence it was his vocation to collect. The
windows commanded a view of the sea, the best in the house. This
prospect served mother for exercise. Her eyes roved over it when she
wanted a little out-of-doors life. If she desired more variety, which
was seldom, she went to the kitchen. After we moved she grew averse
to leaving the house, except to go to church. She never quitted the
dining-room after our supper till bedtime, because father rarely came
from Milford, where he went on bank days, and indeed almost every
other day, till late, and she liked to be by him while he ate his
supper and smoked a cigar. All except Veronica frequented this room;
but she was not missed or inquired for. She liked the parlor, because
the piano was there. As soon as father had bought it she astonished us
by a persistent fingering of the keys, which produced a feeble melody.
She soon played all the airs she had heard. When I saw what she could
do, I refused to take music lessons, for while I was trying to
learn "The White Cockade," she pushed me away, played it, and made
variations upon it. I pounded the keys with my fist, by way of a
farewell, and told her she should have the piano for her own.

CHAPTER VI.

One winter morning before daylight, Veronica came to my room, and
asked me if I had heard any walking about the house during the night.
She had, and was going to inquire about it. She soon returned with,
"You have a brother. Temperance says my nose is broken. He will be
like you, I suppose, and have everything he asks for. I don't care
for him; but," crying out with passion, "get up. Mother wants to see
_you_, I know."

I dressed quickly, and went downstairs with a feeling of indignation
that such an event should have happened without my knowledge.

There was an unwonted hush. A bright fire was burning on the
dining-room hearth, the lamps were still lighted, and father was by
the fire, smoking in a meditative manner. He put out his hand, which I
did not take, and said, "Do you like his name--Arthur?"

"Yes," I mumbled, as I passed him, and went to the kitchen, where
Hepsey and Temperance were superintending the steeping of certain
aromatic herbs, which stood round the fire in silver porringers and
earthen pitchers.

"Another Morgeson's come," said Temperance. "There's enough of them,
such as they are-