Mr. Green took up his pen and wrote across the face of the paper, in
large letters, "satisfied," and then, handing it to his son, said--

"Take it to her, Henry, and say to her, that if I had given way to
my feelings, I would have done this a year ago. And now, let me
speak a word for your ear. Never again, in this life, may a young
woman cross your path, whose character is so deeply grounded in
virtue, who is so pure, so unselfish, so devoted in her love, so
strong in her good purposes. Her position is humble, but, in a
life-companion, we want personal excellences, not extraneous social
adjuncts. You have my full consent to win, if you can, this sweet
flower, blooming by the way-side. A proud day will it be for me,
when I can call her my daughter. I have long loved her as such."

More welcome words than these Mr. Green could not have spoken to his
son. They were like a response to his own feelings. He did not,
however, make any answer, but took the contract in silence and
quickly left the room.

The reader can easily anticipate what followed. Mary did not go back
to Lowell. A year afterwards she was introduced to a select circle
of friends in Boston as the wife of Henry Green, and she is now the
warmly esteemed friend and companion of some of the most
intelligent, refined, right-thinking, and right-feeling people in
that city. Her husband has seen no reason to repent of his choice.

As for old Mr. Bacon, his farm has continued to improve in
appearance and value ever since his daughter paid off the mortgage;
and as he, once for all, banished liquor from his house, he is in no
danger of having his little property burdened with a new