"You're not going away before she comes?" exclaimed Owen,
piteously. "Don't leave us--please don't leave us!"

"Going!" cried Morgan, with great contempt. "What should I gain
by that? When destiny has found a man out, and heated his
gridiron for him, he has nothing left to do, that I know of, but
to get up and sit on it."

I opened my lips to protest against the implied comparison
between a young lady and a hot gridiron, but, before I could
speak, Morgan was gone.

"Well," I said to Owen, "we must make the best of it. We must
brush up our manners, and set the house tidy, and amuse her as
well as we can. The difficulty is where to put her; and, when
that is settled, the next puzzle will be, what to order in to
make her comfortable. It's a hard thing, brother, to say what
will or what will not please a young lady's taste."

Owen looked absently at me, in greater bewilderment than
ever--opened his eyes in perplexed consideration--repeated to
himself slowly the word "tastes"--and then helped me with this
suggestion:

"Hadn't we better begin, Griffith, by getting her a plum-cake?"

"My dear Owen," I remonstrated, "it is a grown young woman who is
coming to see us, not a little girl from school."

"Oh!" said Owen, more confused than before. "Yes--I see; we