MRS. ROBERTS. Oh, a friend of ours from California, who's been so kind
to us all night, and who's going home with us.

AUNT MARY. Another ridiculous surprise, I suppose. But he shall not
surprise _me_. Young man, isn't your name Sawyer?

THE CALIFORNIAN. Yes, ma'am.

AUNT MARY. Abram?

THE CALIFORNIAN. Abram Sawyer. You're right there, ma'am.

MRS. ROBERTS. Oh! oh! I knew it! I knew that he must be somebody
belonging to us. Oh, thank you, aunty, for thinking--

AUNT MARY. Don't be absurd, Agnes. Then you're my--

A VOICE from one of the berths. Lost step-son. Found! found at last!

[THE CALIFORNIAN looks vainly round in an endeavor to identify the
speaker, and then turns again to AUNT MARY.]

AUNT MARY. Weren't your parents from Bath?

THE CALIFORNIAN (eagerly). Both of 'em, ma'am--both of 'em.

THE VOICE. O my prophetic soul, my uncle!

AUNT MARY. Then you're my old friend Kate Harris's daughter?