Excerpt from A Red, Red Rose

The death of old Andrew Brent, of Brent, Massachusetts, had left his son and daughter, Tom and Amelia, without, so far as they knew, one of their blood in the world.

Their position would have seemed to most people an enviable one. Young, well-educated, and good-looking, with the great monster "Brent's" flinging out money for them even while they slept, they had the ball at their feet from a worldly point of view.

Yet behind Tom Brents kindly, smiling face, his slow voice and lazy manner, there was still a quite fresh and smarting wound, although Andrew Brent had been in his grave six months and the grass was already velvety upon it.

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