"Yes," repeated Cassiopia, "with his daughter, Miss Lizzie."
"Has he only one daughter?"
"That's all, now. He had two; but Miss Esther ran off with a wild young fellow, an' I've hearn tell as how they were both dead, poor things! So powerful handsome as they were too—'specially him."
"And Miss Lizzie?"
"Oh, yes. Well, you see she ain't married—she's more sense. She's awful pretty, too, though she ain't a mite like Miss Esther was. Laws, she might have bin married dozens of times, I'm sure, if she'd have all the gents who want her. She's only been home for two or three months; she was off somewhere to boardin'-school to larn to play the pianner and make picters and sich."
"And the papa of these interesting damsels, what is he like?" inquired the young man.
"He?—sakes alive! Why, he's the ugliest-tempered, crossest, hatefullest, disagreeablest old snapping-turtle ever you saw. He's as cross as two sticks, and as savage as a bear with a sore head. My stars and garters! I'd sooner run a mile out of my way than meet him in the street."
"Whew! pleasant, upon my word! Are all your country magnates as amiable as Squire Erliston?"
"There ain't many more, 'cepting Doctor Nick Wiseman, and that queer old witch, Miss Hagar."
"Has he any grown-up daughters?" inquired the stranger, carelessly.