George Meadows, the master of a prosperous farm, was then a man of fifty, and his wife was a year or two younger.Their three daughters were lovely and their two sons were handsome and strong. They were merry, industrious and kindly. They were happy and deserved their happiness. But the real master of the house was not George, it was his mother. She was about 70, tall, with gray hair and though her face was wrinkled,- her eyes were dark, bright and shrewd. I knew the story of George's mother an