KATHARINE MORNE.
PART I.
CHAPTER I.
One day, near the middle of a June about twenty years ago, my landlady met me at the door of my boarding-house, and began with me the following dialogue.
"Miss Morne, my dear, home a'-ready? Goin' to be in, a spell, now?"
"Yes, Mrs. Johnson, I believe so. Why?"
"Well, someb'dy's been in here to pay ye a call, afore twelve o'clock, in a tearin' hurry. Says I, 'Ye've got afore yer story this time, I guess,' says I. Says he, 'I guess I'll call again,' says he. He's left ye them pinies an' snowballs in the pitcher."
"But who was it?"
"Well, no great of a stranger, it wa'n't,—Jim!"