I will give you my genealogical tree to hang up in that old homestead of yours.

It will interest the people of Weir--and please your mother." "It is good in you to think of her," he said, tenderly looking down at her.
He was not blind.

He saw the muddy skin, the thick lips, the soiled, ragged lace.

They would have disgusted him in another woman.
But this was--Lisa.

There was no more to be said.
These outside trifles would fall off when she came into his life.