The care of her wood-lot, the cutting, selling, or burning the wood on it, would be a supreme happiness to Abram, who loved property next to the kingdom of heaven.
The tragedy of the old man's life was the loss of his only son, who had been killed by a whale a year since.

The _Adamant_, the ship he sailed in, had not returned, and it was a consoling hope with Abram that his boy's chist might come back.
"We heard of poor Charming Handy's death the tenth of September, about three months after Abram began his visits to Temperance," Veronica said.
"Was his name Charming ?" I asked.
"His mother named him," Abram said, "with a name that she had picked out of Novel's works, which she was forever and 'tarnally reading." "What day of the month is it, Verry ?" "Third of October." "What happened a year ago to-day ?" "Arthur fell off the roof of the wood-house." "Verry," he cried, "you needn't tell my sister of that; now she knows about my scar.

You tell everything; she does not.

You have scars," he whispered to me; "they look red sometimes.

May I put my finger on your cheek ?" I took his hand, and rubbed his fingers over the cuts; they were not deep, but they would never go away.
"I wish mine were as nice; it is only a little hole under my hair.
Soldiers ought to have long scars, made with great big swords, and I am a soldier, ain't I, Cassy ?" "Have I heard you sing, Cassy ?" asked father.