Wood County reporter. [volume] (Grand Rapids [i.e. Wisconsin Rapids], Wis.) 1857-1923, 1862-11-29
THE WIDOW AND HER son,

mers deepened the gold on those fair locks.
The earnest blue eyes looked fondly in
the faded face that bent over him. There
was a world of love in that soul-a love
that was not only lip deep, but was proved
by acts of self-denial.
The words are beautiful enough to be
repeated. Henry Locke smiled, because
as he spoke there came tears to his moth
er's,eyes He lad that morning been prom
Used a place in a country store, five miles
from the cot, Or rather cabin, where they
lived. 1t was but small pittance but
of late the mother had grown so feeble
that she could earn nothing could scarce
ly do the little that order and neatness
called for at her hands.
One dollar a week 1t was very little
sum, but better, much better, than nothing.
Besides Henry was to have his meals with
his employer, and could if he choose, sleep
there. But he did not choose. For glad
smile from mother for the pressure of
that feeble hand for the tender Christian
words that came from those pale lips, he
was bravely willing, after the days hard
work, to walk the five miles, dark and te-
dious though the way was Often he came
bringing some little delicacy that he had
earned, and which was sweet to the invalid
because he brought it.
One night the sky was curtained with
clouds The widow looked from her little
window facing the billy road along which
the hay-wagons went on there way to the
city, and said, as she saw twilight deepen
ing earlier than was wont, che will not
come to-nlg ht."
No he would not come that night. The
wind blew fercely and sent the branches
of the old apple tree rattling against the
clap boards, and threw the rain, as with a
spite, over the little windows, sheeting them
and making dreary music. So the widow,
quite confident that Henry would not ven
ture out in that storm, read her B BILE
till her heart kindled with the holy words,
an 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,
"Mother, mother p At first she thought
it dream but listening intently, she
heard, blending with the wall of the wind,
that cry, and a sound against the latch
greeting her. Instantly rising, she CROPPED
for light, unfastened the door, and be-
hold, there stood Henry, piteous sight
indeed, covered with mire, literally, from
head TO foot. His face was wet but the
honest, happy smile was in no wise aba
ted.
ssMy boy how could you come on such
n night p exclaimed the widow.
''Why, mother, storm couldn't keep me
from you'' was his hearty response. Owe
had the greatest time, though, you ever
did see lost my way, got into the creek,
and it must be midnight ; but | meant to
come, for S. gave me tritie over tonight,
and knew you needed it
"My dear boy !" sprung from the moth
er's full heart, with tear or two that trick
led down her pale cheeks.
II wonder | haven't thought of it BE-
fore" she said, musin9ly. CATER this,
I'll put light in the widow. To be sure,
it won't show far but when ycu get to the
top of the hill, it will be pleasant to see it,
and know / am Watching for you
For three years the lamp was placed in
the little window every night. People Of
ten remarked, teas bright as Mother
Locke's lutte window" and it bee me IA
vorite sayin with the neignborhood.
! At the end of that time, young Henry was
offered a good chance on board whaling
vessel, aud he resolved TO accept it. 1t
cost him, no one knew what struggle, to
part from the being he loved with an almost
worship. d affection. But he knew the time
had come when he must 90 forth into the
world to do battle for hmself and for her;
and a sailors life was his coveted cal
ling.
at seems to me, Henry" said the moth
er, when, with a trembling lip, she parted
from him, "as if l must still put light
in the window. [ shall think sometimes
that hear the sound of your footsteps,
the chnk of the latch, and your pleasant
voice. 0, Henry, Henry, if | could but
light you over he stormy waters p
The long voyage was ended-but anoth-
er vo, age was to end before that. The
widow Locke was taken ILL., Yet with I'M
fading regularity, with feeble steps and
trembling hand, nightly the dear woman
trimmed The little lamp and placed it i'll the
window Sill when the Bonded form
could no longer totter about the cottage,
when she lay helpless upon the bed, and
the neighbors came in to care for her, she
would say, "Put the little lamp in the
window my Henry will be thinking Of
it."
Night after night, and ever until her
ewes grew dim, she woul watch the "a,
dance of the Pickering light, only saying
some thing. shall live to hear his foot,
steps? Will TIE feeble fame still burn
Wien my life's light as gone outy'
iave longed to see him. s e said 81
have prayed tarnestly, but have given ii
all up now. shall not meet him in is
world"
"Have YOU put the light il the Window"
she asked suddenly, few moments after,
cit it growing dark"
Alas it was not t e light that was
growing dark,
Her ands grew cold. Over her coun
tenance came that mysterious shadow tina,
falls but once on any mortal face.
ooh nv boy my boy." she whisper
ed : cell him,''-they bent lower to catch
her falling words-"tell him / will put a
light in the window of heaven to guide III:
footsteps there.
The thrilling sentence was hardly spok
en,w en- the shadow dropped. from suf
ferer's face, and it smiled in the calm maj
esty of death. A funeral followed, humble
hea, is attended the body of one who was
loved for her sincere goodness all through
the hamlet and on the I'LL side in a little
grave yard, she was buried.
Not many days after great ship came
into the port of busy city. Among al
those who Stepped from the decks, none
were more hopeful, more joyful than young
Henry Locke He had passed through the
ordeal of life at sea, so far unscathed. No
blight of immortality had fallen upon him
He had kept himself as spotless as if at