24 MY MOTHER’S GOLD RING. the ring upon my husband’s finger, farmer Johnson brought over the Temperance book. We all sat down to the tea-table together. After supper was done, little Robert climbed up and kissed his father, and, turning to farmer Johnson, “Father,” said he, “has not smelt like old Isaac, the drunken fiddler, once, since we rode home in your yellow wagon.” The farmer opened the book: my husband signed the pledge of the society, and, with tears in his eyes, gave me back—ten thousand times more precious than ever—my mother’s gold ring.
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