" "There you're wrong, Mr. . "He stands before you," rejoined her son. " "My dear," observed Wood, "you should be more charitable—" "Charitable!" repeated his wife, "that's your constant cry. “I don’t know how to prove myself to you, John. Wood's displeasure; and he was the more readily induced to do this, as the conversation began to turn upon his own affairs. He drew her closer. She controlled herself, and answered meekly, “No. But some day she would find a place to love: there would be rosy apples on the boughs, and there would be flurries of snow blowing into her face.
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