The Union and journal. [volume] (Biddeford, Me.) 1858-1882, 1862-11-07
Tbe STORY Teller,
TIL Z
TIL 4
WIDOW AND HER SON

Smother, will be everything to you that
I can be-; promised you that
The boy lifted his head. A look of high
resolve made the young brow manlikc in cx-
preston. Not yet had ten summers deepen.
ed tho gold on those fair locks. The earnest
blue eyes looked fondly in tho faded face
that bent over him. There was world OF
love in that soul-a love that was not only
lip deep, but was proved by acts of sclfde-
nial.
The words aro beautiful enough to bc re-
pcated. Henry Locke smiled, because as he
spoke there came tears to his mothers eyes.
IIe had that morning been promised place
in country store, five miles from tho cot,
or rather cabin, where thoy lived. 1t was
Of but a small pittancc; but of late the
mother had grown so feeble that she could
earn nothing-could scarcely do the little
that order and neatness called for at her
hands.
Ono dollar week! II was very little
sum, but better, much better, than nothing.
Besides Henry was to have his meals with
hs employer, aud could, II he choose, sleep
there. But he did not choose. For q glad
smile from mother; for the pressure of that
feeble hand; for the tender Christian words
that came from those pale lips, he was brave
ly willing, after the days hard work, to
walk the five miles, dark and tedious though
the way was. Often ho came bringing some
little dclicacy that he had earned, and which
was sweet to the invalid because he brought
it.
One night the sky was curtained with
clouds. Tho widow looked from her little
window facing the hilly road along which
the hay-wagons went on their way to the
city, and said, as she saw the twilight deep
ening earlier than its wont: "He will not
come tonight"
No: hc would not come that night. The
wind blew fercely and sent the branches OF
the old applo.tree rattling against the clap
boards, and threw the rain, as with spite,
over the little windows, sheeting them and
making dreary music. So the widow, quite
confident that Henry would not venture out
in that storm, read her Bible till her heart
kindled with the holy words, and. putting
out her little light, went to her rest.
She knew not how long she had slept,
when a voice awakened her. The sweet
voice, so dear to her, was crying. Smother |!
Mother" At frst she thought 1t dream +;
but listening intently, she heard, blending
with the wall of the wind, that cry, and q
sound against the latch greeted her. In
stan,ly rising, she CROPPED for light, un-
fastened the door, and behold, there stood
Henry, a pitcous sight indeed, covered with
mire, literally from head to foot. His face
was wet; but the honest, happy smile was
in no way abated.
MY boy, how could you como on such n
night? p exclaimed the widow.
why, mother, storm couldn't keep me
from you,' was his hearty response. I've
had the greatest time, though, you ever did
see--lost my way, got into the creek, and it
must bomidnight; but meant to come, for
S. gave me q triae over tonight, and knew
you needed it.
MY dear boy' sprung from the mothers
full heart, with tear or two that trickeled
down her pale checks.
IL wonder haven't thought Of It before,
she said. musingly. 'After this. I'll put a
light in tho window. To be sure, it won't
show far; but, when you get to the top Of
the hill. It will bo pleasant to SEQ it, and
know that ON watching for you.'
For thrcc years the lamp was placed in tho
little window every night. People often re-
marked that. 'as bright as Mother Locke's lit
Ito window and it became favOrite saying
with the neighbOrhood.