The Davenport gazette. [volume] (Davenport, Scott Co., Iowa) 1841-185?, 1851-04-17

Keep Sally here always; our darling
was fond Of her,
And as closed the door, heard her give
one deep sob. The next time saw her,
she was qvite composed; only for the white
cheek and the black dress, you would not
know the burning feel Of . child's las. kiss
had ever touched her lips.
My fathers wife mourned for him after
another fashion. she could not sis quiet,
she must work hard TO keep the lie 10 them
to whom he gave it; and il was only in the
evenings when she sat down before the
FIRE with Mary in her arms, that she used
10 sob and rock herself to and fro, and sing
a low, wailing key for the father Of the lit
tic one, whose innocent tears were always
ready to fall when she saw her mother
cry. About this time, mother got an offer
from some Of the hucksters 10 the neigh
borhood who knew her honesty, 10 GO three
times week to the next market town, ten
miles Of, with their little money, and bring
them back supplies Of bread, groceries, can.
dies and soap. This she used to do, walk
ing the twenty miles-ten Of them
with heavy load upon her back--for the
sake Of keeping Us alive. Twas very sci.
dom that Richard could get stroke Of
work, to do; the boy wasn't strong himself
for bad The sickness, too, though be recov-
cred from it, and always did bis best to
earn an honest penny wherever be could.
| often wanted my mother to let me go in
her stead aud bring back the load: but she
never would hear Of it, and keep me at
home to mind the house and little Mary
Nv poor pet lamb! twas little minding she
wanted. She would 60 after breakfast nd
81. at the door, stop thero all day, watch.
ing for her mother, and never needing the
ueighbors children that used TO come want
ing her to play. Through the Iive-long
hours she would never stir, but just keep
her eyes fixed on the lonesome boreen, (by-
road,) and when the shadow Of the noun
tain ash grew long, and she caught a
glimpse Other mother ever 80 far of. COM
ing towards home, the JOY ,ha. would flush
on The patient, small face, was brighter
than the sunbeam on the river. Faint and
weary as the poor woman used to be. be-
fore ever she sat d1wn she'd have Mary
nesting in her bosom. No matter how
little she might have eaten herself that day.
she would ALWAYS bring home little white
hun for Mary; and the child that had tasted
nothing since morning, would eat so hap
PLY, and then fall asleep quietly in he'
mot hers arms.
AT the end Of some months | got the
sickness myself, but not 30 heavily as Rich
ard did before. ANY way, he aud my
mother rendered me we'll ,hroughii. They
Id almost every little stick OF furniture
TINT was left, to buy me drink and medi-
cine. By degrees ! recovered, and the
first evening was able to sit up noticed
a strange, wild brightness in my mothers
ewes, and hot flush 90 her thin cheek-she
had taken the fever.
Before she lay down on the whisp Of
straw TINT served her for bed, she brought
little Mary to me. Take her, sally she
snid land between every word she gave
the child kiss--'take her; she's safer with
you than she'd be with me, for you're over
the sickness, and tisnt long any way, III
be with you. my jewell she said, as she
gave the little creature one long, close hug,
aud put her into my arms.
'Twould take long 10 tell all about her
sickness--how Richard and ], as good right
we had, rendered her night and day, and
how, when every farthing's worth we had
in the world was gone, the mistress her.
self came down from the big house, the
very day after the family returned from
France. aud brought wine, food, medicine.
linen, and everything we could want.
Shortly after the kind lady was gone,
my mother took the change for death;
her senses came back, she grew quite
s,rong-like, and "a, up straight in the bed.
Bring me the child, Sally, alesgh,' she
said. And when ] carried little Mary 10
her, she looked into the tiny face, as il she
was reading il like book.
you won't be long away from me, my
own one,' she said, her tears fell down upon
the child like summer rain.
:Mother,' said |, as well as could speak
for crying, 'sure you know III do my best
to tend her.
4 know you will, ncusAla; you were o..
ways true and dutiful daughter to me and
to him that's gone; but, Sally, there's that
| in nv wenny one that won't let her thrive
without the mothers hand over her, and
the moth.r's heart for her to lean against.
And now--.s II was all she could say:
she just ciasped the little child to her bo-
som, fell back on my arm, and in lew mo-
ments all was over. Al first Richard and
could not believe she was dead; and il
was very long before the orphan would
loose her hold Of the s.ifFening fingers; bat
when the neighbors came in to prepare for
the wake. we contrived to flatter her away.
Days passed on; the child was very qai.
ct. she used to go IS usual to sit at The door |;
and watch hour after hour along the road
that her mother always took coming home
from market, waiting for her that could
never come again. When the sun near