The Morgesons | Page 5

could be said of him was that he had the rudiments of a
Founder.
My father, whose name was Locke Morgeson also, married early. My
mother was five years his elder; her maiden name was Mary Warren.
She was the daughter of Philip Warren, of Barmouth, near Surrey. He
was the best of the Barmouth tailors, though he never changed the cut
of his garments; he was a rigidly pious man, of great influence in the
church, and was descended from Sir Edward Warren, a gentleman of
Devon, who was knighted by Queen Elizabeth. The name of his more
immediate ancestor, Richard Warren, was in "New England's
Memorial." How father first met mother I know not. She was singularly
beautiful--beautiful even to the day of her death; but she was poor, and
without connection, for Philip Warren was the last of his name. What
the Warrens might have been was nothing to the Morgesons; they
themselves had no past, and only realized the present. They never
thought of inquiring into that matter, so they opposed, with great
promptness, father's wish to marry Mary Warren. All, except old Locke
Morgeson, his grandfather, who rode over to Barmouth to see her one

day, and when he came back told father to take her, offered him half his
house to live in, and promised to push him in the world. His offer
quelled the rioters, silencing in particular the opposition of John
Morgeson, father's father.
In a month from this time, Locke Morgeson, Jr., took Mary Warren
from her father's house as his wife. Grandfather Warren prayed a long,
unintelligible prayer over them, helped them into the large,
yellow-bottomed chaise which belonged to Grandfather Locke, and the
young couple drove to their new home, the old mansion. Grandfather
Locke went away in the same yellow-bottomed chaise a week after, and
returned in a few days with a tall lady of fifty by his side--"Marm
Tamor," a twig of the Morgeson tree, being his third cousin, whom he
had married. This marriage was Grandfather Locke's last mistake. He
was then near eighty, but lived long enough to fulfill his promises to
father. The next year I was born, and four years after, my sister
Veronica. Grandfather Locke named us, and charged father not to
consult the Morgeson tombstones for names.
CHAPTER III.
"Mrs. Saunders," said mother, "don't let that soap boil over. Cassy,
keep away from it."
"Lord," replied Mrs. Saunders, "there's no fat in the bones to bile.
Cassy's grown dreadful fast, ain't she? How long has the old man been
dead, Mis Morgeson?"
"Three years, Mrs. Saunders."
"How time do fly," remarked Mrs. Saunders, mopping her wrinkled
face with a dark-blue handkerchief. "The winter's sass is hardly put in
the cellar 'fore we have to cut off the sprouts, and up the taters for
planting agin. We shall all foller him soon." And she stirred the bones
in the great kettle with the vigor of an ogress.
When I heard her ask the question about Grandfather Locke, the
interval that had elapsed since his death swept through my mind. What

a little girl I was at the time! How much had since happened! But no
thought remained with me long. I was about to settle whether I would
go to the beach and wade, or into the woods for snake-flowers, till
school-time, when my attention was again arrested by Mrs. Saunders
saying, "I spose Marm Tamor went off with a large slice, and Mr. John
Morgeson is mad to this day?"
Mother was prevented from answering by the appearance of the said
Mr. John Morgeson, who darkened the threshold of the kitchen door,
but advanced no further. I looked at him with curiosity; if he were mad,
he might be interesting. He was a large, portly man, over sixty, with
splendid black hair slightly grizzled, a prominent nose, and fair
complexion. I did not like him, and determined not to speak to him.
"Say good-morning, Cassandra," said mother, in a low voice.
"No," I answered loudly, "I am not fond of my grandfather."
Mrs. Saunders mopped her face again, grinning with delight behind her
handkerchief.
"Debby, my wife, wants you, Mis Saunders, after you have made
Mary's soap," he said.
"Surely," she answered.
"Where is the black horse to-day?" he asked mother.
"Locke has gone to Milford with him."
"I wanted the black horse to-day," he said, turning away.
"He's a mighty grand man, he is," commented Mrs. Saunders. "I am
pesky glad, Mis Morgeson, that you have never put foot in his house. I
'plaud your sperit!"
"School-time, Cassy," said mother. "Will you have some gingerbread to
carry? Tell me when you come home what you have read in the New
Testament."

"My boy does read beautiful," said Mrs. Saunders. "Where's the potash,
Mis