it of a house it was to bring a wife to, but it suited Dely.
It stood on the edge of a pine wood, where the fragrance of the resinous
boughs kept the air sweet and pure, and their leaves thrilled responsive
to every breeze. The house was very small and very red, it had two rooms
below and one above, but it was neater than many a five-story mansion,
and far more cheerful; and when Dely went in at the door, she thought
there could be no prettier sight than the exquisitely neat old woman
sitting in her arm-chair on one side of the fireplace, and her beautiful
cat on the other, purring and winking, while the tea-kettle sang and
sputtered over the bright fire of pine-cones, and the tea-table at the
other side of the room was spread with such clean linen and such shining
crockery that it made one hungry even to look at the brown bread and
butter and pink radishes that were Dely's wedding-supper.

It is very odd how happy people can be, when they are as poor as
poverty, and don't know where to look for their living but to the work
of their own hands. Genteel poverty is horrible; it is impossible for
one to be poor, and elegant, and comfortable; but downright, simple,
unblushing poverty may be the most blessed of states; and though it was
somewhat of a descent in the social scale for Dely to marry a farm-hand,
foreman though he might be, she loved her George so devoutly and
healthily that she was as happy as a woman could be. George's mother,
the sweetest and tenderest mother to him, took his wife to a place
beside his in her heart, and the two women loved each other the more for
this man's sake; he was a bond between them, not a division; hard work
left them no thought of rankling jealousy to make their lives bitter,
and Dely was happier than ever she had thought she should be away from
her mother. Nor did the hard work hurt her; for she took to her own
share all of it that was out of doors and troublesome to the infirmities
of the old lady. She tended the calf in its little log hut, shook down
the coarse hay for its bed, made its gruel till it grew beyond gruel,
then drove it daily to the pasture where it fed, gave it extra rations
of bread and apple-parings and carrot-tops, till the creature knew her
voice and ran to her call like a pet kitten, rubbing its soft, wet nose
against her red cheek, and showing in a dozen blundering, calfish ways
that it both knew and loved her.

There are two sorts of people in the world,--those