ПЕРЕВЕСТИ на нормальный русский: 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 and his uncle, whose name was also George. About fifty years ago uncle George and his younger brother Tom had both courted Mrs. Meadows when she was Emily Green. George was a good-looking fellow, but not so steady as his brother, that's why Emily chose Tom. George had gone away to sea for twenty years. Now and then he sent them presents. Then there was no news of him. When Tom died Mrs. Meadows wrote George about it but they never got an answer and decided that he must be dead. Some days ago to their greatest surprise they got a letter, which informed them that George Meadows, who was ill and felt that he had not much longer to live wanted to see the house in which he was born. I was invited to come and see him. It goes without saying I accepted the invitation. I found the whole family in the kitchen. I was amused to see that Mrs. Meadows wore her best silk dress. I was introduced to the old captain. He was very thin and his skin hung on his bones like an old suit that was too large for him. He had lost nearly all his teeth. It was strange to see those two old people and to think that half a century ago he had loved her and she was in love with another. "Have you ever been married, Captain Meadows?" I asked. - "Not me," he said and added: "I said I would never marry anyone but you, Emily, and I never have". There was some satisfaction in his voice.
