They were not many, and that was the easiest way to carry them.

Her mother's wedding-ring, sacredly kept in a box since the mother's death, she slipped upon her finger.

It seemed the closing act of her life in the cabin, and she paused and bent her head as if to ask the mother's permission that she might wear the ring.

It seemed a kind of protection to her in her lonely situation.
There were a few papers and an old letter or two yellow with years, which the mother had always guarded sacredly.

One was the certificate of her mother's marriage.