The voice of freedom. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1839-1848, 1847-04-22
From the Home Magazine.
TEIE FREELY.

upon the neat orchard which surrounded her
cottage. The grass had been mown in the
morning, but the heat of the sun had soon
dried it. She had already gathered it into
heaps, and the sweet smell of the hay now
blew into the chamber, as if to refresh and
strengthen her after her labor. The glow OF
sunset was already fading upon the border OF
the clear and cloudless sky and the moon shone
calm and bright into the little chamber, shad-
owing the square panes of the half open win
dow, together with the grape vine which
adorned it,upon the nicely sanded floor. Lit
tie Ferdinand, a boy of six years ofage, stood
leaning against the window frame his bloom
ing face and yellow locks, with a portion of
his white clean shirt sleeves and scarlet vest,
were distinctly visible in the moonlight.
The poor woman was sitting thus to rest
herself perhaps But oppressive as had been
the labor of the sultry day, yet a heavier bur-
den weighed upon her bosom, and rendered
her forgetful of her WEAKNESS She had eat
en- but spoonful or two of their supper, (which
consisted of a bowl of bread and milk. Lit
tie Ferdinand was also greatly disturbed, but
he did not speak, because he saw that his
mother was so sorrowful. Having observed
that his mother, instead ofeating, wept bitterly,
he had laid aside his spoon, and the earrhen
dish still stood upon the table, almost as full
as when it was served up. 1t was SO placed
in the moon beams, that it cast a clear, round
light upon the ceiling of the chamber.
Maria was left widow in the carly part Of
the past spring. Her deceased husband, one
of the worthie8t young men in the village, had
by industry and economy, saved a sum Of
money sufficient to purchase the little cottage
with its neat meadow, though not entirely
free from encumbrance The Industrious
man had planted the green and cheerful field
with young trees which already bore the finest
fruit. He had chosen Maria for his wife al
though she was poor orphan, and her pa
rents had been able to give her nothing more
than good education ); he had chosen her, be-
capse she was known as the most pious indus
trious and well behaved maiden in the village.
They had lived happy together. But the ty-
plus fever broke out in the village, and her
husband died. Having nursed him with the
greatest tenderness, she herself was attacked
with it, after his DEATH and barely escaped
with life
Her husbands sickness and her own, had
thrown them much behind hand. But now
she must even part with her little cottage -
Her deceased husband had long laborcd for
the richest peasant in the country a man by |
the name Of Meyer. The peasant, who high !
" esteemed him on account of his fidelity and |
industry, had lent him three hundred crowns
to purchase this cottage, with the ground be-
longing to it, upon the condition that he would
pay off fifty crowns yearly, twenty-five in
money and twenty-five in labor. Until the
year that he was taken SICK her husband had
faithfully performed bis agreement, and the
debt now amounted to but fifty crowns. Ma
ria knew all this very well.
Meyer now died of the same disease The
L.. ! I I, Al.
note for the three hundred crowns among the |
papers of the deceased. They did not know
word about the affair, as the Old man had
never spoken of it to them The terrified
woman assured them calling heaven to wit
ness, that her deceased husband had paid OF
the whole except fifty crowns. But all this
was Of no avail. The young peasant called
her shameless Lar and summoned her be-
fore court of law. AS she could not prove
that anything had been paid, it was decided |
that the enters claim against her was valid
The heirs insisted upon payment, and as poor |
Maria had nothing buthcr cottage and grounds
this little property must now be sold, She
had fallen upon her knees before the heirs
and had prayed them not to turn her out of
doors; little Ferdinand kneelcd with her
both wept-but all was in vain. The follow
ing morning was appointed for the sale. She
had heard this an hour before, usG as she had |
finished her days work. A neighbor had |
called out over the hedge and told it to her.
1t was for this reason that she now sat so
sorrowful by the open window, glancing now
upward to the clear sky,now upon Ferdinand
and then gazed steadfastly upon the floor +
There was a sad silence.
"Alas !" she said to herself ~ have to-day
then, raked the hay from the orchard for the
10 tin,o Tho aorly, Inllpy nj n,,c yybinb I !
picked this morning for Ferdinand, arc the
last fruit which the poor boy will eat from the
trees which his father planted for him. Yes,
this may be the last night we shall spend be-
meath this roof. BY this time tomorrow, this
cottage will be anothers property, and who
can say but we shall be turned out at once.
Heaven alone knows where we shall find a
shelter tomorrow. Perhaps under the open
heaven ~ She began to sob violently
Little Ferdinand, who until now, had not
moved, came forward, and weeping said
"Mother, do not cry so btterly-or else
cannot talk to you. DO you not know what
father said as he died there on that bed p
Do not weep So he said; God is father
to poor widows and orphans. Call upon him
in thy Distress and he will aid the That is
what he said, and is it not true, then ?"
&" Yes, dear child" said thee mother, it is
true"
"Well," said the boy, " why do you weep
so long, then? Pray to God and he will help
thee"
Good child, thou art rightw said his
mother, and her tears flowed less bitterly, and
comfort was mingled with her sorrow She
folded her hands and raised her moist eyes
towards heaven, and Ferdinand folded his
little hands also, and looked upward, and the
bright moon shone upon the mother and
child.
And the mother began to pray, and the
boy repeated every word after her.
" Great Father in heaven" she said, Z" look