"
So they went in. Jane Wilson was rather chafed at her son's delay
in returning home, for as yet he had managed to keep her in
ignorance of his dismissal from the foundry; and it was her way to
prepare some little pleasure, some little comfort for those she
loved; and if they, unwittingly, did not appear at the proper time
to enjoy her preparation, she worked herself up into a state of
fretfulness which found vent in upbraidings as soon as ever the
objects of her care appeared, thereby marring the peace which should
ever be the atmosphere of a home, however humble; and causing a
feeling almost amounting to loathing to arise at the sight of the
"stalled ox," which, though an effect and proof of careful love, has
been the cause of so much disturbance.
Mrs. Wilson at first sighed, and then grumbled to herself, over the
increasing toughness of the potato-cakes she had made for her son's
tea.
The door opened, and he came in; his face brightening into proud
smiles, Mary Barton hanging on his arm, blushing and dimpling, with
eyelids veiling the happy light of her eyes--there was around the
young couple a radiant atmosphere--a glory of happiness.
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