So your father has health"-- the boy nodded--"and a whole body, a good temper, an affectionate family, generous and refined tastes, pleasant relations with others, a warm heart, a clear conscience"-- the boy nodded with an increasing enthusiasm of assent--"and yet you call him unfortunate--ruined! Why, look here, my son; there's an old apple-woman at the corner of Burling Slip, where I stop every day and buy apples; she's sixty years old, and through thick and thin, under a dripping wreck of an umbrella when it rains, under the sky when it shines--warming herself by a foot-stove in winter, by the sun in summer--there the old creature sits.

She has an old, sick, querulous husband at home, who tries to beat her.

Her daughters are all out at service--let us hope, in kind families--her sons are dull, ignorant men; her home is solitary and forlorn; she can not read much, nor does she want to; she is coughing her life away, and succeeds in selling apples enough to pay her rent and buy food for her old man and herself.

She told me yesterday that she was a most fortunate woman.

What does the word mean?
I give it up." The lad looked around the spacious office, on every table and desk and chair of which was written Prosperity as plainly as the name of Lawrence Newt upon the little tin sign by the door.