Squire Turner looked at the intruder in surprise.
“How do you do, Squire Turner?” said the stranger, familiarly.
“You have the advantage of me,” said the squire, coldly.
“Yet you used to know me well,” was the reply, as the visitor sat down uninvited.
“I don’t know you now. Who are you?” demanded Squire Turner, who didn’t feel it necessary to use much ceremony with a man so evidently under the frowns of fortune.
“I am your cousin, Hartley Brandon.”
Squire Turner started.
“Hartley Brandon!” he repeated, in amazement. “I thought you were dead years ago.”
“And wished it, no doubt,” said the other, with a laugh. “Confess now you are not very glad to see me.”