The underlined passages and the marginal comments gave evidence of an
extraordinary love of beauty, in whatever shape or form. And yet--the
parlour, which was opened only on Sunday--was hideous with a gaudy
carpet, stuffed chairs, family portraits done in crayon and inflicted
upon the house by itinerant vendors of tea and coffee, and there was a
basket of wax flowers, protected by glass, on the marble-topped
"centre-table."

The pride of Miss Mattie's heart was a chair, which, with incredible
industry, she had made from an empty flour barrel. She had spoiled a
good barrel to make a bad chair, but her thrifty soul rejoiced in her
achievement. Roger never went near it, so Miss Mattie herself sat in it
on Sunday afternoons, nodding, and crooning hymns to herself.

[Sidenote: An Awful Chasm]

"How did father stand it?" thought Roger, intending no disrespect. He
loved his mother and appreciated her good qualities, but he saw the
awful chasm between those two souls, which no ceremony of marriage could
ever span.

[Sidenote: Roger Austin]

In appearance, Roger was like his father. He had the same clear, dark
skin, with regular features and kind, dark eyes, the same abundant, wavy
hair, strong, square chin, and incongruous, beauty-loving mouth. He had,
too, the lovable boyishness, which never quite leaves some fortunate
men. He was studying law in the judge's office, and hoped by another
year to be ready to take his examinations. After working hard all day,