“Roger!  Roger Raleigh!” cried Mrs. McLean, from the shore, “come back!”

Obeying her with an air of puzzled surprise, the person so unceremoniously addressed was immediately beside her again.

“A cool proceeding, Sir!” said she, extending both her hands.  “How long would you know your Cousin Kate to be here, and refuse to spare her an hour?”

“Upon my honor,” said her cousin, bending very low over the hands, “I but this moment learn her presence in my neighborhood.”

“Ah, Sir! and what becomes of my note sealed with sky-blue wax and despatched to you ten days ago?”

“It is true such a note lies on my table at this moment, and it is still sealed with sky-blue wax.”

“And still unread?”

“You will not force me to confess such delinquency?”

“And still unread?”

“Ten thousand pardons!  Shall I go home and read it?” And herewith the saucy indifference of his face became evident, as he raised it.

“No.  But is that the way to serve a lady’s communications?  Fie, for a gallant!  I must take you in hand.  These are your New Hampshire customs?”

  “’O Kate, nice customs curtsy to nice
  kings!’”

“So I’ve heard, when curtsying was in fashion; but that is out of date, together with a good many other nice things,—­caring for one’s friends, for instance.  Why don’t you ask how all your uncles and aunts are, Sir?”

“How are all my uncles and aunts, Miss?”

“Oh, don’t you know?  I thought you didn’t.  There’s another billet, inclosing a bit of pasteboard, lying on your table now unopened too, I’ll warrant.  Don’t you read any of your letters?”

“Alphabetical or epistolary?”

“Answer properly, yes or no.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“I know no one that has authority to write to me, as half a reason.”

“Thank you, for one, Sir.  And what becomes of your Uncle Reuben?”

“Not included in the category.”

“Then you’re not aware that I’ve changed my estate?  You don’t know my name now, do you?

  “’Bonny Kate, and sometimes Kate the curst,
  But Kate, the prettiest Kate in Christendom’”

“Nonsense!  What an exasperating boy!  Just the same as ever!  Well, it explains itself.  Here comes a recent property unto me appertaining.  McLean!  My husband, Mr. John McLean,—­my cousin, Mr. Roger Raleigh.”

The new-comer was one of those “sterling men” always to be relied on, generally to be respected, and safely and appropriately leading society and subscription-lists.  He was not very imaginative, and he understood at a glance as much of the other as he ever would understand.  And the other, feeling instantly that only coin of the king’s stamp would pass current here, turned his own counter royal side up, and met his host with genuine cordiality.  Shortly afterward, Mrs. McLean withdrew for an improvement in her toilet, and soon returning, found them comparing notes as to the condition of the country, tender bonds of the Union, and relative merits of rival candidates, for all which neither of them cared a straw.