"The Lawson farm" was the abode of comfort and happiness. Thrift
greeted the eye on every side--from the well-filled barns to the
unbroken range of fences, through which a sheep could not crawl, nor
even could the most "highlariously" inclined Ayrshire be tempted to
try the pass.
The neat farmhouse, with its bright coat of paint, was the
attraction of the district, and was just such a place as would be
besieged by all the lecturers, agents, and travellers that happened
to strike oil in this direction. Nor were they ever disappointed.
Mrs. Lawson was truly wife, mother and friend. None passed her door
without the hospitality they craved.
"It is a wonder to me how the Lawson's stand it," was often the
comments of the less hospitable neighbors, as they watched with no
uncommon curiosity the daily arrival of some unexpected guest.
"The more we give the more we'll have," was the wise mother's reply
as she sometimes heard complaints from the female portion of the
household as regards the extra work.
It had always been the highest ambition of John Lawson that his
family should grow up industrious men and women and that they should
each receive all the benefits of education that lay within his
power.
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