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"Poor ol' beggar," he said gently. "No, sir. At least not at once." "Why?".
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Conrad
He sighed and turned to glance back at the cottage resting in the hardwood grove. It looked very homey, very restful to him, beneath its vines of clustering wild-grape and honeysuckle. It was home—home it must be always. And Mary loved it just as he loved it; this he knew. She was a fine woman, a great helpmate, a wonderful wife and mother. She was fair minded too. She loved Billy quite as much as she loved her own son, Anson. Billy must be more careful, more thoughtful of her comfort. He would have a heart to heart talk with his son, he told himself as he went on to the barn. Billy led him outside and turned the light of the lantern full on his face. "Harry," he said, sternly, "where are you gettin' all this whisky?" Mr Lawrence led the way below. Billy sat down on a stump. "I don't bear no grudge, do you?" he asked..
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