Astounded as he was, he did not forget the marital rights of the man before him; and he said, with a trembling voice, politely, "I beg your pardon; but, as you are this lady's husband, perhaps you had better hold her." "She appears to be doing very well where she is," replied the singularly calm Amos Frump. "A moment more, and she will be out of her fainting spell. I've seed her very often this way before." Mr. Frump's prediction was verified; for his lips had scarcely closed on the words, when Mrs. Frump opened her eyes, and feebly said, "Is it a dream?" "No, Gusty," replied the composed Amos; "it is a husband come back from Californy, with fifty thousand dollars." "It is--it is my own 'husband's voice!" cried Mrs. Frump, throwing herself impulsively out of Matthew's arms upon the patched and faded coat of her restored consort. "I thought you would know the voice," said Amos, "and that's the reason I changed it into a growl. This 'ere old Californy suit was a pooty good disguise, too. But my confounded laugh betrayed me. I didn't think to change that." The third laugh had roused old Van Quintem from a nice nap, and he came out on the piazza. "Hallo, Mr. Carpenter! what are you doing there?" said he, good-naturedly. A few words from the supposed carpenter defined his position, and threw old Van Quintem into the appropriate state of amazement. Looking at the shaggy face by a variety of lights, he soon came to recognize it as that of his niece's husband, whom he had seen a few times on his yearly visits to the country, before his farming brother, Nicholas Van Quintem, father of Mrs. Frump, had died. "From the way Gusty hangs to you, I judge you are no ghost," said old Van Quintem, when he had partly recovered his senses. "No more than I am a carpenter," was the dry response. "But how does it happen that you are no ghost?" asked old Van Quintem, with fearful interest.