The Hancock Jeffersonian. [volume] (Findlay, Ohio) 1857-1870, 1857-11-27

l'hio part W tne story no one Knew,
save God and His plying angels.
She had passed a weary Thanks.
Igiving, for this was the third Thanks.
giving day since her mother died.
The first one, the snow pressed
heavily on a new-made. crave, and
covered up the week.old letterine,
which read on white tomb stone
| SARAH NASH,
WIFE OF DEACON MOSES NASH,
Aged 81"
The second was but few weeks
after her father brought his wife
home, and on this, the third, he too
was gone and she was alone on the
desolate earth.
She had worked all day-she was
very tired-but now she must clear
off the long table which had groan.
ed under a weight of good cheer;
round which Mrs. Nash had gather.
ed her relations. Sally must not 90
to bed till the last dish was washed
she knew that. She got q high
chair and set il before the closed
door leading into the parlor. Then
climbing up on it, she looked through
the glaas, over the door, into the
cheerful room. Oh how warm and
bright it was. Her step mother sat,
with her friends, before the fire.
Her gayly dressd children were
grouped around her. There was
warmth and light and mirth for the
living, but there was no one to
speak loving word to her--could
the dead see her from under the
grave moundsl She came back and
looked again at the table. She sigh.
ed and said once more, in her low,
sad voice, "Oh, dear, there are so
many"
That was all. Then she began
her task, and did not pause until it
was done-the last dish laid in its
place and the tables pushed back
against the wall. 1t was only nine
O'clock, but she did not 60 into the
parlor. They had nothing for her
she had nothing for them. She
took her candle and climbed YEARLY
up stairs to bed.
Soon sleep closed her eyelids and
brought with it dreams. At first
they were pleasant ones. Her mother
seemed with her again, and life was
bright and hopeful. But, even in
her sleep, trouble followed after the
10y. She lived over again her
wrongs, her oppression, her long
sorrow. Then voice seemed to
speak to her. 1t reused her from
her slumber. She thought those
we're her mothers tones. Tney
seemed calling her to the church,
yard. They told her that the heart
underneath the grave. sod was troub
led-that the dead was stirring in
her grave. If che went there, she
thought her mother could hear her
moan-hcr mother, who seemed
calling hor again to her bosom.
Come, come, come!" called the
far off voice. The child started up
wildly. She rose from her bed--she
hurried noiselessly down stairs. She
opened the outside door, just as the
clock struck the hour Of midnight
The house was still. No one heard
the light footsteps. She closed the
door behind her and hurried on. The
winds swept through and through
her thin night. .gown--the hard earth
cut and goaded her bare, tender feet,
But che was insensible to cold or
pain. She hurried on. Only one
thought was in her heart--her moth.
er had called-she was going to
her.
Across the fields she sped-into
the church; yard gate-on, to those
two graves beneath the wlllows-on,
until she pressed fevered brow upon
the bare snd above her mothers .
heart.
And then the merciful snow began
to fall. 1t covered up the letters on
the maidstone, which the poor child
had been tracing blindly with her
} fingers. 1t folded over the two
graves its white mantle Of peace
It lay like a snowy veil upon that
J young victims brow. 1t clothed,
, like q garment, her limbs. 1t was
! more nerciful to her than the world a,
, but she needed not its ministry.
All her senses were locked save
, one. She helistened-eagerly breath.
lessly--wRdly. She listened for her
. mothers vsice. Oh. was it fancyl
Out of that grave sweet, low tones
. seemed 70 rks. She thought-it
/, may have been only the snow. fakes
3 but she thought soft hand rested
r upon her hair; she felt . spirit kiss
, upon her forehead. She lay on
Q the cold, bare earth no longer -
] her head was lifted to . soft
' vlloving bosom. She bad found resi-
y at least, and she murmpred, - she
, had 20 many times done N her moth.