"Very singular!" murmured Mrs. Primrose. Morton was walking slowly up the hall, conversing with an odd-looking couple--a heavy, thick set man, in the fantastic finery of a Broadway swell, and a woman of five feet ten, thin and gaunt, with a yellow complexion, and a pair of fierce, glittering eyes, like an Indian squaw in ill humor. She was gorgeous in silk, brocade, and diamonds, and her huge, gloveless, bony fingers sparkled with jewelry. Her husband, on his part, displayed a mighty breastpin, in the shape of a war horse rampant, in diamond frostwork. "Mr. Meredith," murmured the horrified Mrs. Primrose, "pray who are those persons?" "Aborigines from Red River. Mr. and Mrs. Major Orson, of Natchitoches. He is a speculator, I believe, of more wealth than reputation." "And _are_ they friends of Mr. Morton?" "O, Morton is a student of humanity. He met them at the tea table, and thinks them remarkable specimens of natural history." Mrs. Primrose did not hear this explanation. The trio had now approached within a few yards; and her whole attention was absorbed in listening to the high, penetrating voice of the female ogre. "There's one great and glorious thing about Natchitoches," remarked Mrs. Orson. "What's that?" asked Morton. "You can get every thing there to eat that heart can wish." "That's a fact," said the major; "there ain't no discount on that." "Game, and fish, and fruit, and vegetables," pursued the lady; "any thing and every thing. The north can't compete with it, I tell _you_. There's the pompano! O, my! Did you ever eat a pompano?" "Never." "Then you _have_ got something to look forward to. That's a fish that _is_ a fish. Why, sir, you can begin at the tail, and eat him clean away to the head, and the bones is just like marrow! It makes my mouth water to think of it!" "O, hush!" cried the major, with sympathetic emotion. "And then the fruit! Think of the peaches! They beat your nasty little northern peaches all holler!" "Yes," added the major, and to have your own boys to shin up the tree and throw 'em down to you; and to sit under the shade all the afternoon eating 'em;--that's the way to live!" "It's all the little niggers is good for, just to pick fruit." "Troublesome animals, I should think," observed Morton. "Well, they be; and the growed-up niggers ain't much better. To think of that girl, Cynthy, major. My! wasn't she one of 'em! The major is, out of all account, too tender to his niggers, and if it warn't for me, they wouldn't get a speck of justice done. Why, what are all those folks moving for? My! supper's ready. I'll go in with this gentleman, major, and you may foller with any pretty gal that you can get to come with you. I ain't a jealous woman"--turning to Morton--"I let the major do pretty much what he pleases."