This is the last foot of land I own clear." For answer Lot had bidden Burr open his desk and bring him a certain paper from a certain corner.

Then Margaret Bean had opened the door a crack, and had with her two peering eyes seen Lot Gordon take his pen in hand and write upon the paper, and show it to his cousin Burr.
"Very well," said Burr, "I will go home and get the deed of the wood-lot," and motioned towards the door, which drew to in a soft panic as if with the wind.
"Stop," said Lot; and Margaret Bean paused in her flight, and laid her ear to the door again.

"I don't want your woodland," said Lot.
"The interest is paid without it.

It is your wedding-gift." "Why should you do this?
I did not ask you to," Burr returned, almost defiantly; and Margaret Bean had felt indignant at his unthankfulness.
"You can take from your kinsman what you could not take from Parson Fair," replied Lot.

"I hear you will not go to nest in Parson Fair's snug roof-tree, with your pretty bird, either." "I will die before I will take my wife under any roof but my own," cried Burr, fiercely, "and I want no gifts from you either.