“Yes, but they mean habits of thought like your stooping shoulders, I don’t object to such wrinkles in a man’s face. But the best feature of all your stock is your eye. Your big brown eyes are about the only perfect thing about you. There’s infinite tenderness in them. Now and then they gleam with a hidden fire that tells of enthusiasm, thought, will, character, and dauntless courage.” She looked and they were misty with tears. He pressed her hand. “Auntie, I didn’t know how much you’ve loved me all these years. How love opens one’s eyes!” “You have a high temper, plenty of pride, and are given to looking on the dark side of things too quickly. You lack poise of character and sureness of touch yet, but with it all, yours is a masterful nature.” “One you think that a perfect woman could love?” “There are no perfect women; but I ’ll match you against any woman I know. So there, now, take courage.” “I will,” he gravely answered. He hurried to his office and read his mail. There were two letters retaining his services for jury work in important cases. His heart leaped at the sign of coming success. What a new meaning love gave to every event in life. He turned to his books, and began immediately a searching study of every question involved in these cases. He would carry the court by storm. He would lead the jury spellbound by his eloquence to a certain verdict. How clear his brain! He felt he was alive to his finger-tips, and argus-eyed. He worked hour after hour without the slightest fatigue or knowledge of the flight of time. He looked up at last with surprise to find it was night, and was startled by the voice of the Preacher calling him from below. “What’s the matter with you? Mrs. Durham sent me to find you. She was afraid you had gone up on the roof and walked off.” “I ’ll be ready in a minute, Doctor,” he called from the window. “I haven’t known you to take to law so violently in four years. What’s up? Got a capital case?” “Yes, I believe I have. It’s a matter of life and death to one poor soul anyhow.” “Now, honour bright haven’t you been working all this afternoon on a love-letter that you’ve just finished and addressed to Independence?” “‘No sir. To tell you the fact, I didn’t dare to ask her to write to me. I knew I couldn’t control a pen.” “My boy, I wish you success with all my heart. It makes me young again to look into your face. I’ve had my supper, when you’ve finished your confab with your Auntie, come out here in the square to the seat under the old oak, I want to talk to you on some important business.” “What have you been doing,” asked Mrs. Durham. “Building a home for her!” he cried in a whisper. He went behind the chair where his foster mother sat pouring his tea, bent low and kissed her high white forehead. “My own Mother! I ’ll never call you Auntie again!” Tears sprang to her eyes, and she kissed his hand, tenderly holding it to her lips. “Ah! Love is a wonder worker, isn’t he Charlie?”