That she was wronging her son by exerting such despotic authority was the last thought that would have occurred to her.

A higher morality than that of ordinary mortals had guided her in the past, and she followed it now.
When she reached the rail fence, she found some difficulty in climbing it, since her legs had grown rheumatic with the cold weather; but by letting the basket down first on a forked stick, she managed to ease herself gently over to the opposite side.

Here she rested, while she carefully brushed away the dried pollen from the golden-rod, which was staining her dress.

Then regaining her strength after a minute, she pushed on under the oak trees, where the moist, dead leaves made a soft, velvety sound, to the apple orchard and the sunken flagged walk that led to the overseer's cottage.
In the sunshine on the porch Reuben Merryweather was sitting; and at sight of his visitor, he rose, with a look of humble surprise, and invited her into the house.

His manner toward her was but a smaller expression of his mental attitude to the universe.