But yo' mother didn't live long--they said her heart was broken 'bout the other fellow, but there wasn't a word of truth in that foolishness--couldn't be.

I used to see her and yo' father together long after that, and she was mighty good to him, and he was to her.
Yes--all comes back to me.

Stand still, child, and let me look at you--yes--you're plumper than yo' mother and a good deal rosier, and you don't look so slender and white as she did, like one of those pale Indian pipes she used to hunt in the woods.

It's the Seymour in you that's done that, I reckon." Kate walked on in silence.

It was not the first time that some of her mother's old friends had told her practically the same story--not so clearly, perhaps, because few had the simple, outspoken candor of the old fellow, but enough to let her know that her father was not her mother's first love.
"Don't be in a hurry, child, and don't let anybody choose for you," he ran on.