Idle Hour Stories by Eugenia Dunlap Potts
page 88 of 204 (43%)
page 88 of 204 (43%)
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Western land. For a season there were caresses and even tears, of mutual
love and thankfulness. "My precious wife!" he exclaimed, as he clasped her close. "What a treasure in you, if all the money in the world should fail!" "But your piano!" he said, with regret overreaching his appreciation of her sacrifice. "Let it go," she merrily replied. "I could not play worth listening to--this you must admit. It was just an expensive, cumbersome toy--that's all." Next day the balance of the debt was borrowed upon the security of the western deed, and Henry Woodruff was a free man once more. When the five hundred dollars jumped to thousands in a sudden boom, he bought a neat home. Here, Margaret, the valued friend, supplied produce from her farm. Eleanor was never quite content till Harry had looked up her two maligners, and brought them to the pleasant domain where she presided, and which her painfully awakened energy had helped to buy. In time she told her secret, and thanked them for that ten minutes' gossip. In time, too, sons and daughters came and found a mother prepared by self-denial for the exigencies of life. The Iron Box |
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