"A pretty fellow this son of yours--never one word of apology, either to me or Martha--I won't have him roystering here at all hours, frightening affectionate little girls with his violence." "Who is it he has frightened?" enquired old Morgan; "who are the affectionate girls you mean? I'm sure he has never caused the least alarm to his sisters in his life." "Perhaps not--perhaps not, Mr Morgan; but there is another girl that I wouldn't have any injury done to on any account. In fact, I may as well tell you at once, that Martha evidently expects me to provide for her happiness, and I am going to do it." "Well, nothing can be fairer--but how?" "Why, as to any little blot on her birth, I don't care much about it. Uncle was a kind friend to me, and I really think I can't do better than give a good steady husband to his child." "Bravo! bravo! when you have found her." "What do you mean by--when I have found her?" "Why, have you never read the letters?" "No; I never read letters. They're all in the wooden box." "Then where, when, or how, have you encountered a daughter of your uncle?" "Why, Martha Brown. I tell you I don't dislike a little dash of Hindoo blood; it's like curry, and gives a flavour." "And who is the husband you have chosen for her?" "Myself." Old Morgan burst into a prodigious laugh, but I was in no humour to stand such nonsense. I got into a furious passion--he answered in an insulting manner--and so I ordered him to get out of my house, him and his son, and all his baggage. "Certainly, certainly, Mr Sneezum, but you'll repent of it; and, as to your marrying Martha, you'll just as soon marry the Princess-Royal."